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The   Betrayal 


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'The  doui  wa.->  Lhrown  open  and  a  footman  ushered  in  the  callers. 


THE  BETRAYAL 


By  E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 


Author  of  *'A    Prince   of  Sinners,"    "Anna   The 
Adventuress,"  "The  Master  Mummer,"  etc. 


With  Four  Illustrations 
By  JOHN   CAMERON 


A.  L.   BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 


Copyright,  )904, 
By  DoDD,  Mead  antj  Comfamt, 


5M  C:^lf>53 

URL! 


CONTENTS 


CEAPTER 
I 

The  Face  at  the  Window 

PAGE 

1 

II 

Good  Samaritans 

10 

III 

The  Cry  in  the  Night 

19 

IV 

Miss  Moyat's  Promise 

28 

V 

The  Graciousness  of  the  Duke 

37 

VI 

Lady  Angela  Gives  me  some  Advice 

,    43 

VII 

Colonel.  Ray's  Ring 

52 

VIII 

A  Wonderful,  Offer 

65 

IX 

Treachery 

75 

X 

An  Expression  of  Confidence 

84 

XI 

His  Royal  Highness 

91 

XII 

An  Accident 

99 

XIII 

A  Bribe 

108 

XIV 

A  Reluctant  Apology 

113 

XV 

Two  Fair  Callers 

124- 

XVI 

Lady  Angela's  Engagement 

134 

XVII 

More  Treachery 

145 

XVIII 

In  which  I  Speak  Out 

152 

XIX 

Mrs.  Smith-Lessing 

160 

▼i 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB 

XX 

Two  TO  One 

PAGE 

170 

XXI 

Lady  Angela  Approves 

179 

XXII 

Miss  Moyat  Makes  a  Scene 

187 

XXIII 

MosTYN  Ray  Explains 

195 

XXIV 

Lord  Blenavon's  Surrendee 

203 

XXV 

My  Secret 

211 

XXVI 

"Noblesse  Oblige" 

219 

XXVII 

Friend  of  Enemy? 

226 

XXVIII 

A  Woman's  Tongue 

233 

XXIX 

The  Link  in  the  Chain 

241 

XXX 

MosTYN  Ray's  Love  Story 

250 

XXXI 

My  Father's  Letter 

258 

XXXII 

A  Painful  Encounter 

265 

XXXIII 

The  Duke's  Message 

275 

XXXIV 

Myself  and  my  Stepmother 

285 

XXXV 

Angela's  Confession 

293 

XXXVI 

I  Lose  my  Post 

301 

XXXVII 

Lord  Chelsford's  Diplomacy 

309 

XXXVIII 

A  Terrible  Discovery 

317 

XXXIX 

The  Traitor 

324 

XL 

The  Theories  of  a  Novelist 

330 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  door  was  thrown  open  and  a 

footman  ushered  in  the  callers"  Frontispiece 

"She    had    advanced    to    within    a 

couple  of  yards  of  him"  Facing  page    26 


'It  was  Lady  Angela  who  stood  upon 

the  threshold"  ««         «     110 


'Get  in,'  he  said,  in  a  low  sup- 
pressed tone"  "         **     208 


THE    BETRAV^AL 

CHAPTER  I 
THE    FACE    AT    THE     WINDOW 

LIKE  a  clap  of  thunder,  the  north  wind,  rush- 
ing seawards,  seemed  suddenly  to  threaten 
the  ancient  little  building  with  destruction. 
The  window  sashes  rattled,  the  beams  which 
supported  the  roof  creaked  and  groaned,  the  oil  lamps 
by  which  alone  the  place  was  lit  swung  perilously  in 
their  chains.  A  row  of  maps  designed  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  young — the  place  was  a  schoolhouse — com- 
menced a  devil's  dance  against  the  wall.  In  the  street 
without  we  heard  the  crash  of  a  fallen  chimneypot.  My 
audience  of  four  rose  timorously  to  its  feet,  and  I,  glad 
of  the  excuse,  folded  my  notes  and  stepped  from  the 
slightly  raised  platform  on  to  the  floor. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming,"  I  said, 
*'but  I  think  that  it  is  quite  useless  to  continue,  for  I  can 
scarcely  make  you  hear,  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  the 
place  is  safe." 

I  spoke  hastily,  my  one  desire  being  to  escape  from 
the  scene  of  my  humiliation  unaccosted.  One  of  my 
little  audience,  however,  was  of  a  different  mind. 
Kising  quickly  from  one  of  the  back  seats,  she  barred 


ft  THE    BETRAYAL 

the  way.  Her  broad  comely  face  was  full  of  mingled 
contrition  and  sympathy. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  exclaimed.  "It 
does  seem  a  cruel  pity,  doesn't  it? — and  such  a  beauti- 
ful lecture!  I  tried  so  hard  to  persuade  dad  and  the 
others  to  come,  but  you  know  how  they  all  love  hearing 
anything  about  the  war,  and " 

"My  dear  Miss  Moyat,"  I  interrupted,  "I  am  only 
sorry  that  a  mistaken  sense  of  kindness  should  have 
brought  you  here.  With  one  less  in  the  audience  I  think 
I  should  have  ventured  to  suggest  that  we  all  went 
round  to  hear  Colonel  Ray.  I  should  like  to  have  gone 
myself  immensely." 

Blanche  Moyat  looked  at  me  doubtfully. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  she  declared,  "but  I  think  it's 
jolly  mean  of  the  Duke  to  bring  him  down  here  the  very 
night  you  were  giving  your  lecture." 

"I  do  not  suppose  he  knew  anything  about  that,"  I 
answered.  "In  any  case,  I  can  give  my  lecture  again 
any  time,  but  none  of  us  may  ever  have  another  oppor- 
tunity of  hearing  Colonel  Ray.    Allow  me " 

I  opened  the  door,  and  a  storm  of  sleet  and  spray 
stung  our  faces.  Old  Pegg,  who  had  been  there  to  sell 
and  collect  tickets,  shouted  to  us. 

"Shut  the  door  quick,  master,  or  it'll  be  blown  to 
smithereens.  It's  a  real  nor'easter,  and  a  bad  'un  at  that. 
Why,  the  missie  '11  hardly  stand.  I'll  see  to  the  lights 
and  lock  up.  Master  Ducaine.  Better  be  getting  hoam 
while  thee  can,  for  the  creeks  '11  run  full  to-night." 

Once  out  in  the  village  street  I  was  spared  the  em- 
barrassment of  conversation.    We  had  to  battle  the  way 


THE    FACE    AT    THE     WINDOW      3 

step  by  step.  We  were  drenched  with  spray  and  the 
driving  rain.  The  wind  kept  us  breathless,  mocking  any 
attempt  at  speech.  We  passed  the  village  hall,  bril- 
liantly lit ;  the  shadowy  forms  of  a  closely  packed  crowd 
of  people  were  dimly  visible  through  the  uncurtained 
windows.  I  fancied  that  my  companion's  clutch  upon 
my  arm  tightened  as  we  hurried  past. 

We  reached  a  large  grey  stone  house  fronting  the 
street.  Miss  Moyat  laid  her  hand  upon  the  handle  of 
the  door  and  motioned  to  me  to  enter. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Not  to-night,"  I  shouted.    "I  am  drenched." 

She  endeavoured  to  persuade  me. 

"For  a  few  moments,  at  any  rate,"  she  pleaded.  "The 
others  will  not  be  home  yet,  and  I  will  make  you  some- 
thing hot.    Father  is  expecting  you  to  supper." 

I  shook  my  head  and  staggered  on.  At  the  corner  of 
the  street  I  looked  behind.  She  was  holding  on  to  the 
door  handle,  still  watching  me,  her  skirts  blowing  about 
her  in  strange  confusion.  For  a  moment  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  turn  back.  The  dead  loneliness  before  me 
seemed  imbued  with  fresh  horrors — the  loneliness,  my 
fireless  grate  and  empty  larder.  Moyat  was  at  least  hos- 
pitable. There  would  be  a  big  fire,  plenty  to  eat  and 
drink.  Then  I  remembered  the  man's  coarse  hints,  his 
unveiled  references  to  his  daughters  and  his  wish  to  see 
them  settled  in  life,  his  superabundance  of  whisky  and 
his  only  half-veiled  tone  of  patronage.  The  man  was 
within  his  rights.  He  was  the  rich  man  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, corn  dealer,  farmer,  and  horse  breeder.  I  was 
an  unknown  and  practically  destitute  stranger,  come 


4  THE    BETRAYAL 

from  Heaven  knew  where,  and  staying  on — ^because  it 
took  a  little  less  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  here  than 
in  the  town.  But  my  nerves  were  all  raw  that  night,  and 
the  thought  of  John  Moyat  with  his  hearty  voice  and 
slap  on  the  shoulder  was  unbearable.  I  set  my  face 
homewards. 

From  the  village  to  my  cottage  stretched  a  perfectly 
straight  road,  with  dykes  on  either  side.  No  sooner  had 
I  passed  the  last  house,  and  set  my  foot  upon  the  road, 
than  I  saw  strange  things.  The  marshland,  which  on 
the  right  reached  to  the  sea,  was  hung  here  and  there 
with  sheets  of  mist  driven  along  the  ground  like  clouds 
before  an  April  tempest.  White  flakes  of  spray,  salt  and 
luminous,  were  dashed  into  my  face.  The  sea,  indriven 
up  the  creeks,  swept  the  road  in  many  places.  The 
cattle,  trembling  with  fear,  had  left  the  marshland,  and 
were  coming,  lowing,  along  the  high  path  which  bor- 
dered the  dyke.  And  all  the  time  an  undernote  of  terror, 
the  thunder  of  the  sea  rushing  in  upon  the  land,  came 
like  a  deep  monotonous  refrain  to  the  roaring  of  the 
wind. 

Through  it  all  I  battled  my  way,  hatless,  soaked  to  the 
skin,  yet  finding  a  certain  wild  pleasure  in  the  storm. 
By  the  time  I  had  reached  my  little  dwelling  I  was  ex- 
hausted. My  hair  and  clothes  were  in  wild  disorder,  my 
boots  were  like  pulp  upon  my  feet.  My  remaining 
strength  was  expended  in  closing  the  door.  The  fire 
was  out,  the  place  struck  cold.  I  staggered  towards  the 
easy  chair,  but  the  floor  seemed  suddenly  to  heave  be- 
neath my  feet.  I  was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  for  two 
days  I  had  had  little  to  eat,  and  that  my  larder  was 


THE    FACE    AT    THE     WINDOW      6 

empty.  My  limbs  were  giving  way,  a  mist  was  before 
my  eyes,  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  seemed  to  be  in  my  ears, 
even  in  ray  brain.  My  hands  went  out  like  a  blind  man's, 
and  I  suppose  broke  my  fall.  There  was  rest  at  least 
in  the  unconsciousness  which  came  down  like  a  black 
pall  upon  my  senses. 

It  could  only  have  been  a  short  time  before  I  opened 
my  eyes.  Some  one  was  knocking  at  the  door.  Outside 
I  could  hear  the  low  panting  of  a  motor-car,  the  flashing 
of  brilliant  lamps  threw  a  gleam  of  light  across  the  floor 
of  my  room.  Again  there  came  a  sharp  rapping  upon 
the  door.  I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow,  but  I  made 
no  attempt  at  speech.  The  motor  was  the  Rowchester 
Daimler  omnibus.  What  did  these  people  want  with  me  ? 
I  was  horribly  afraid  of  being  found  in  such  straits.  I 
lay  quite  still,  and  prayed  that  they  might  go  away. 

But  my  visitor,  whoever  he  was,  had  apparently  no 
idea  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort.  I  heard  the  latch 
lifted,  and  the  tall  bulky  form  of  a  man  filled  the 
threshold.  With  him  came  the  wind,  playing  havoc 
about  my  room,  sending  papers  and  ornaments  flying 
around  in  wild  confusion.  He  closed  the  door  quickly 
with  a  little  imprecation.  I  heard  the  scratching  of  a 
match,  saw  it  carefully  shielded  in  the  hollow  of  the 
man's  hand.  Then  it  burned  clearly,  and  I  knew  that  I 
was  discovered. 

The  man  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  huge 
ulster.  He  was  so  tall  that  his  cap  almost  brushed  my 
ceiling.  I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow  and  looked  at 
him,  looked  for  the  first  time  at  Mostyn  Ray.  He  had 
the  blackest  and  the  heaviest  eyebrows  I  had  ever  seen, 


6  THE    BETRAYAL 

very  piercing  eyes,  and  a  finely  shaped  mouth,  firm  even 
to  cruelty.  I  should  have  known  him  anywhere  from  the 
pictures  which  were  filling  the  newspapers  and  maga- 
zines. My  first  impression,  I  think,  was  that  they  had 
done  him  but  scanty  justice. 

As  for  me,  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  I  was  a  pitiful 
object.  Of  colour  I  had  never  very  much,  and  my  faint- 
ing fit  could  scarcely  have  improved  matters.  My 
cheeks,  I  had  noticed  that  morning  when  shaving,  were 
hollow,  and  there  were  black  rims  under  my  eyes.  With 
my  disordered  clothing  and  hair,  I  must  indeed  have 
presented  a  strange  appearance  as  I  struggled  to  gain 
my  feet. 

He  looked  at  me,  as  well  he  might,  in  amazement. 

"I  would  ask  you,"  he  said,  "to  excuse  my  uncere- 
monious entrance,  but  that  it  seems  to  have  been  provi- 
dential. You  have  met  with  an  accident,  I  am  afraid. 
Allow  me." 

He  helped  me  to  stagger  to  my  feet,  and  pushed  me 
gently  into  the  easy  chair.  The  match  burnt  out,  and 
he  quietly  struck  another  and  looked  around  the  room 
for  a  candle  or  lamp.  It  was  a  vain  search,  for  I  had 
neither. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said,  "that  I  am  out  of  candles — and 
oil.  I  got  a  little  overtired  walking  here,  and  my  foot 
slipped  in  the  dark.  Did  I  understand  that  you  wished 
to  see  me  ?" 

"I  did,"  he  answered  gravely.  "My  name  is  Mostyn 
Ray — but  I  think  that  we  had  better  have  some  light.  I 
am  going  to  get  one  of  the  motor  lamps." 

"If  you  could  call — ^in  the  morning,"  I  began  des- 


THE    FACE    AT    THE     WINDOW      7 

perately,  but  he  had  already  opened  and  closed  the  door. 
I  looked  around  my  room,  and  I  could  have  sobbed  with 
mortification.  The  omnibus  was  lit  inside  as  well  as  out, 
and  I  knew  very  well  who  was  there.  Already  he  was 
talking  with  the  occupants.  I  saw  a  girl  lean  forward 
and  listen  to  him.  Then  my  worst  fears  were  verified.  I 
saw  her  descend,  and  they  both  stood  for  a  moment  by 
the  side  of  the  man  who  was  tugging  at  one  of  the 
huge  lamps.    I  closed  my  eyes  in  despair. 

Once  more  the  wind  swept  into  my  room,  the  door 
was  quickly  opened  and  closed.  A  man-servant  in  his 
long  coat,  and  cockaded  hat  tied  round  his  head  with  a 
piece  of  string,  set  down  the  lamp  upon  my  table.  Be- 
hind, the  girl  and  Mostyn  Ray  were  talking. 

"The  man  had  better  stop,"  he  whispered.  "There 
is  the  fire  to  be  made." 

For  the  first  time  I  heard  her  voice,  very  slow  and  soft, 
almost  languid,  yet  verv  pleasant  to  listen  to. 

"No!"  she  said  firmly.  "It  will  look  so  much  like 
taking  him  by  storm.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  am  by  no 
means  a  helpless  person." 

"And  I,"  he  answered,  "am  a  campaigner." 

**Get  back  as  quickly  as  you  can,  Richards,"  she  di- 
rected, "and  get  the  things  I  told  you  from  Mrs.  Brown. 
Jean  must  bring  you  back  in  the  motor." 

Once  more  the  door  opened  and  shut.  I  heard  the 
swish  of  her  skirts  as  she  came  over  towards  me. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  murmured.  "I*m  afraid  that  he 
is  very  ill." 

I  opened  my  eyes  and  made  an  attempt  to  rise.  She 
laid  her  hand  upon  my  shoulder  and  smiled. 


8  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Please  don't  move,"  she  said,  "and  do  forgive  us  for 
this  intrusion.  Colont-1  Ray  wanted  to  call  and  apolo- 
gize about  this  evening,  and  I  am  so  glad  that  he  did. 
We  are  going  to  take  no  end  of  liberties,  but  you  must 
remember  that  we  are  neighbours,  and  therefore  have 
privileges." 

What  could  I  say  in  answer  to  such  a  speech  as  this? 
As  a  matter  of  fact  speech  of  any  sort  was  denied  me ;  a 
great  sob  had  stuck  in  my  throat.  They  did  what  was 
kindest.    They  left  me  alone. 

I  heard  them  rummaging  about  in  my  back  room,  and 
soon  I  heard  the  chopping  of  sticks.  Presently  I  heard 
the  crackling"  of  flames,  and  I  knew  that  a  fire  had  been 
lit.  A  dreamy  partial  unconsciousness  destitute  of  all 
pain,  and  not  in  itself  unpleasant,  stole  over  me.  I  felt 
my  boots  cut  from  my  feet.  I  was  gently  lifted  up. 
Some  of  my  outer  garments  were  removed.  Every  now 
and  then  I  heard  their  voices,  I  heard  her  shocked  ex- 
clamation as  she  examined  my  larder,  I  heard  the 
words  "starvation,"  "exhaustion,"  scarcely  applying 
them  to  myself.  Then  I  heard  her  call  to  him  softly. 
She  was  standing  by  my  bookcase. 

"Do  you  see  this.?"  she  murmured.  "  'Guy  Ducaine, 
Magdalen,*  and  the  college  coat  of  arms.  Thej^  must 
belong  to  him,  for  that  is  his  name." 

I  did  not  hear  his  answer,  but  directly  aftenvards  a 
little  exclamation  escaped  him. 

"By  Jove,  what  luck !  I  have  my  flask  with  me,  after 
all.    Is  there  a  spoon  there,  Lady  Angela  ?" 

She  brought  him  one  directly.  He  stooped  down,  and 
I  felt  the  metal  strike  my  teeth.    The  brandy  seemed  to 


THE    FACE    AT    THE     WINDOW      9 

set  all  my  blood  flowing  once  more  warmly  in  my  veins. 
The  heat  of  the  fire,  too,  was  delicious. 

And  then  the  strangest  thing  of  all  happened.  I 
opened  my  eyes.  My  chair  was  drawn  sideways  to  the 
fire  and  immediately  facing  the  window.  The  first 
thing  that  I  saw  was  this.  Pressed  against  it,  peering 
into  the  room,  was  the  white  face  of  a  man,  an  entire 
stranger  to  me. 


CHAPTER     II 
GOOD    SAMARITANS 

THEY  both  hurried  to  my  side.  I  was  sitting 
up  in  my  chair,  pointing,  my  eyes  fixed  with 
surprise.  I  do  not  know  even  now  why  the 
incident  should  so  much  have  alarmed  me, 
iwit  it  is  a  fact  that  for  the  moment  I  was  palsied  with 
fear.  There  had  been  murder  in  the  man's  eyes,  loath- 
some things  in  his  white  unkempt  face.  My  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.  They  gave  me  more 
brandy,  and  then  I  spoke. 

"There  was  a  man — looking  in.  A  man's  face  there, 
at  the  window !" 

Ray  took  up  the  lamp  and  strode  to  the  door.  When 
he  returned  he  exchanged  a  significant  glance  with  Lady 
Angela. 

"There  is  no  one  there  now,  at  any  rate,"  he  said.  "I 
dare  say  it  was  fancy." 

"It  was  not,"  I  answered.  "It  was  a  man's  face — a 
horrible  face." 

"The  omnibus  is  coming  back,"  he  said  quietly.  "The 
servants  shall  have  a  good  look  round." 

"I  would  not  worry  about  it,"  Lady  Angela  said, 


GOOD    SAMARITANS  11 

soothingly.  "It  is  easy  to  fancy  things  when  one  is  not 
weU." 

So  they  meant  to  treat  me  Hke  a  child.  I  said  nothing, 
but  it  was  a  long  time  before  my  limbs  ceased  to  shake. 
The  tall  servant  reappeared  with  a  huge  luncheon  bas- 
ket— all  manner  of  delicacies  were  emptied  out  upon  my 
table.  Lady  Angela  was  making  something  in  a  cup, 
Ray  was  undoing  a  gold-foiled  bottle.  Soon  I  found 
myself  eating  and  drinking,  and  the  blood  once  more 
was  rushing  through  my  veins.  I  was  my  own  man 
again,  rescued  by  charity.  And  of  all  the  women  in  the 
world,  fate  had  sent  this  one  to  play  the  Lady  Bountiful. 

"You  are  looking  better,  my  young  friend,"  Colonel 
Ray  said  presently, 

"I  feel — quite  all  right  again,  thank  you,"  I  an- 
swered.   "I  wish  I  could  thank  you  and  Lady  Angela." 

"You  must  not  attempt  anything  of  the  sort,"  she 
declared.  "My  father,  by-the-bye,  Mr.  Ducaine,  wished 
me  to  express  his  great  regret  that  he  should  have  in- 
terfered in  any  way  with  your  arrangements  for  this 
evening.  You  know,  there  are  so  many  stupid  people 
around  here  who  have  never  understood  anything  at  all 
about  the  war,  and  he  was  very  anxious  to  get  Colonel 
Ray  to  talk  to  them.  He  had  no  idea,  however,  that  it 
was  the  night  fixed  for  your  lecture,  and  he  hopes  that 
you  will  accept  the  loan  of  the  village  hall  from  him 
any  night  you  like,  and  we  should  so  much  hke  all  of  us 
to  come." 

"His  Grace  is  very  kind,"  I  murmured.  "I  fear,  how- 
ever, that  the  people  are  not  very  much  interested  in  lec- 
tures, even  about  their  own  neighbourhood." 


12  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  am,  at  any  rate,"  Lady  Angela  answered,  smiling, 
"and  I  think  we  can  promise  you  an  audience." 

Colonel  Ray,  who  had  been  standing  at  the  window, 
came  back  to  us. 

*'If  I  may  be  permitted  to  make  a  suggestion.  Lady 
Angela,"  he  said,  "I  think  it  would  be  well  if  you  re- 
turned home  now,  and  I  will  follow  shortly  on  foot." 

"Indeed,"  I  said,  "there  is  no  need  for  you,  Colonel 
Ray,  to  remain.  I  am  absolutely  recovered  now,  and  the 
old  woman  who  looks  after  rae  will  be  here  in  the 
morning." 

He  seemed  scarcely  to  have  heard  me.  Afterwards, 
when  I  knew  him  better,  I  understood  his  apparent  un- 
concern of  any  suggestion  counter  to  his  own.  He 
thought  slowly  and  he  spoke  seldom,  but  when  he  had 
once  spoken  the  matter,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  was 
done  with.  Lady  Angela  apparently  was  used  to  him, 
for  she  rose  at  once.  She  did  not  shake  hands,  but  she 
nodded  to  me  pleasantly.  Colonel  Ray  handed  her  into 
the  wagonette,  and  I  heard  the  quicker  throbbing  of  the 
engine  as  it  glided  off  into  the  darkness. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  he  returned.  I  began 
to  wonder  whether  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  re- 
turned to  Rowchester  with  Lady  Angela.  Then  the 
door  handle  suddenly  turned,  and  he  stepped  in.  His 
hair  was  tossed  with  the  wind,  his  shoes  were  wet  and 
covered  with  mud,  and  he  was  breathing  rather  fast,  as 
though  he  had  been  running.  I  looked  at  him  inquir- 
ingly. He  offered  me  no  explanation.  But  on  his  way 
to  the  chair,  which  he  presently  drew  up  to  the  fire,  he 
paused  for  a  full  minute  by  the  window,  and  shading 


GOOD    SAMARITANS  13 

the  carriage  lamp  which  he  still  carried,  with  his  hand, 
he  looked  steadily  out  into  the  darkness.  A  thought 
struck  me. 

"You  have  seen  him !"  I  exclaimed. 

He  set  down  the  lamp  upon  the  table,  and  deliberately 
seated  himself. 

"Seen  whom.?"  he  asked,  producing  a  pipe  and  to- 
bacco. 

"The  man  who  looked  in — whose  face  I  saw  at  the 
window." 

He  struck  a  match  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"I  have  seen  no  one,"  he  answered  quietly.  "The  face 
was  probably  a  fancy  of  yours.  I  should  recommend 
you  to  forget  it." 

I  looked  down  at  his  marsh-stained  shoes.  One  foot 
was  wet  to  the  ankle,  and  a  thin  strip  of  green  seaweed 
had  wound  itself  around  his  trousers.  To  any  other 
man  I  should  have  had  more  to  say.  Yet  even  in  those 
first  few  hours  of  our  acquaintance  I  had  become,  like 
all  the  others,  to  some  extent  the  servant  of  his  will, 
spoken  or  unspoken.  So  I  held  my  peace  and  looked 
away  into  the  fire.  I  felt  he  had  something  to  say  to  me, 
and  I  waited. 

He  moved  his  head  slowly  towards  the  bookcase. 

"Those  books,"  he  asked,  "are  yours.''" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Your  name  then  is  Guy  Ducaine.?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  ever  know  your  father  ?" 

It  was  a  singular  question.  I  looked  at  him  quickly. 
His  face  was  sphinxlike. 


14  THE    BETRAYAL 

"No.     Why  do  you  ask?     Did  you?" 

He  ignored  me  absolutely  for  several  moments.  His 
whole  attention  seemed  fixed  upon  the  curling  wreath  of 
blue  smoke  which  hung  between  us. 

"He  died,  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  "when  you  were 
about  twelve  years  old." 

I  nodded. 

"My  uncle,"  I  said,  "gave  me  a  holiday  and  a  sov- 
ereign to  spend.  He  told  me  that  a  great  piece  of  good 
fortune  had  happened  to  me." 

Colonel  Ray  smiled  grimly. 

"That  was  like  old  Stephen  Ducaine,"  he  remarked. 
*'He  died  himself  a  few  years  afterwards." 

"Three  years." 

"He  left  you  ten  thousand  pounds.  What  have  you 
done  with  it?" 

"Mr.  Heathcote,  of  Heathcote,  Sons,  and  Vyse,  was 
my  solicitor.'* 

"Well?" 

I  remembered  that  he  had  been  away  from  England 
for  several  years. 

"The  firm  failed,"  I  told  him,  "fa»  a  quarter  of  a 
million.  Mr.  Heathcote  shot  himself.  I  am  told  that 
there  is  a  probable  dividend  of  sixpence-half-penny  in 
the  pound  to  come  some  day." 

Colonel  Ray  smoked  on  in  silence.  This  was  evidently 
news  to  him. 

"Awkward  for  you,"  he  remarked  at  last. 

I  laughed  a  little  bitterly.  I  knew  quite  well  that  he 
was  expecting  me  to  continue,  and  I  did  so. 

"I  sold  my  things  at  Magdalen,  and  paid  my  debts. 


GOOD    SAMARITANS  15 

I  was  promised  two  pupils  if  I  would  take  a  house  some- 
where on  this  coast.  I  took  one  and  got  ready  for  them 
with  my  last  few  pounds.  Their  father  died  suddenly — 
and  they  did  not  come.  I  got  rid  of  the  house,  at  a  sac- 
rifice, and  came  to  this  cottage." 

"You  took  your  degree  .f"* 

"With  honours." 

He  blew  out  more  smoke. 

"You  are  young,"  he  said,  "a  gentleman  by  birth,  and 
I  should  imagine  a  moderate  athlete.  You  have  an  ex- 
ceptional degree,  and  I  presume  a  fair  knowledge  of  the 
world.  Yet  you  appear  to  be  deliberately  settling  down 
here  to  starve.'* 

"I  can  assure  you,"  I  answered,  "that  the  deliberation 
is  lacking.  I  have  no  fear  of  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
expect  to  get  some  pupils  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  also 
some  literary  work.  For  the  moment  I  am  a  little  hard 
up,  and  I  thought  perhaps  that  I  might  make  a  few 
shillings  by  a  lecture." 

"Of  the  proceeds  of  which,"  he  remarked,  with  a  dry 
little  smile,  "I  appear  to  have  robbed  you." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"I  hoped  for  little  but  a  meal  or  two  from  it,'*  I  an- 
swered. "The  only  loss  is  to  my  self-respect.  I  owe  to 
charity  what  I  might  have  earned." 

He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  looked  at  me 
with  a  thin  derisive  smile. 

"You  talk,**  he  said,  "like  a  very  young  man.  If  you 
had  knocked  about  in  all  comers  of  the  world  as  I  have 
you  would  have  learnt  a  greater  lesson  from  a  greater 
book.    When  a  man  meets  brother  man  in  the  wilds,  who 


16  THE    BETRAYAL 

talks  of  charity  ?  They  divide  goods  and  pass  on.  Even 
the  savages  do  this." 

**These,"  I  ventured  to  remark,  "are  not  the  wilds." 

He  sighed  and  replaced  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

*'You  are  young,  very  young,"  he  remarked,  thought- 
fully. "You  have  that  beastly  hothouse  education,  big 
ideas  on  thin  stalks,  orchids  instead  of  roses,  the  stove 
instead  of  the  sun.  The  wil  Is  are  everywhere — on  the 
Thames  Embankment,  even  in  this  God-forsaken  comer 
of  the  world.     The  wilds  are  wherever  men  meet  men." 

I  was  silent.  Who  was  I  to  argue  with  Ray,  whose 
fame  was  in  every  one's  mouth — soldier,  traveller,  and 
diplomatist?  For  many  years  he  had  been  living  hand 
and  glove  with  life  and  death.  There  were  many  who 
spoke  well  of  him,  and  many  ill — many  to  whom  he  was 
a  hero,  many  to  whom  his  very  name  was  like  poison. 
But  he  was  emphatically  not  a  man  to  contradict.  In 
my  little  cottage  he  seemed  like  a  giant,  six-foot-two, 
broad,  and  swart  with  the  burning  fire  of  tropical  suns. 
He  seemed  to  fill  the  place,  to  dominate  me  and  my 
paltry  surroundings,  even  as  in  later  years  I  saw  him, 
the  master  spirit  in  a  great  assembly,  eagle-eyed,  stren- 
uous, omnipotent.  There  was  something  about  him 
which  made  other  men  seem  like  pygmies.  There  was 
force  in  the  stem  self-repression  of  his  speech,  in  the 
curve  of  his  lips,  the  clear  lightning  of  his  eyes. 

My  silence  did  not  seem  altogether  to  satisfy  him.  I 
felt  his  eyes  challenge  mine,  and  I  was  forced  to  meet 
his  darkly  questioning  gaze. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I  trust  that  I  have  said  enough. 
You  have  buried  the  thought  of  that  hateful  word." 


GOOD    SAMARITANS  17 

*'You  have  stricken  it  mortally,"  I  answered,  "but  I 
can  scarcely  promise  so  speedy  a  funeral.  However, 
what  more  I  feel,"  I  added,  "I  will  keep  to  myself." 

"It  would  be  better,"  he  answered  curtly. 

"You  have  asked  me,"  I  said,  "many  questions.  I 
am  emboldened  to  ask  you  one.  You  have  spoken  of  my 
father." 

The  look  he  threw  upon  me  was  little  short  of  ter- 
rible. 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "I  have  spoken  of  him.  Let  me 
tell  you  this,  young  man.  If  I  believed  that  you  were 
a  creature  of  his  breed,  if  I  believed  that  a  drop  of  his 
black  blood  ran  in  your  veins,  I  would  take  you  by  the 
neck  now  and  throw  you  into  the  nearest  creek  where  the 
water  was  deep  enough  to  drown." 

I  rose  to  my  feet,  trembling. 

"If  those  are  your  feelings,  sir,"  I  declared,  "I  have 
no  wish  to  claim  your  kindness." 

"Sit  down,  boy,"  he  answered  coldly.  "I  have  no 
fear  of  you.  Nature  does  not  pay  us  so  evil  a  trick  as 
to  send  us  two  such  as  he  in  successive  generations." 

He  rose  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  storm 
had  abated  but  little.  The  roar  of  the  sea  and  wind  was 
still  like  thunder  in  the  air.  Black  clouds  were  driven 
furiously  across  the  sky,  torrents  of  rain  and  spray  beat 
every  now  and  then  upon  the  window.  He  turned  back 
and  examined  the  carriage  lamp. 

"It  is  an  awful  night,"  I  said.  "I  cannot  offer  you  a 
bed  unless  you  will  take  mine,  but  I  can  bring  rugs  and 
a  pillow  to  the  fire  if  you  will  lie  there." 

Then  for  the  only  time  in  my  life  I  saw  him  hesi- 


18  THE    BETRAYAL 

tate.  He  looked  out  of  my  uncurtained  window  into 
the  night.  Very  often  have  I  wondered  what  thought 
it  was  that  passed  then  through  his  brain. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said;  "the  walk  is  nothing,  and 
they  will  expect  me  at  Rowchester.  You  have  pencil 
and  paper.  Write  down  what  I  tell  you. — Colonel  Mos- 
tyn  Ray,  No.  17,  Sussex  Square.  You  have  that? 
Grood!  It  is  my  address.  Presently  I  think  you  will 
get  tired  of  your  life  here.  Come  then  to  me.  I  may 
be  able  to  show  you  the  way " 

"Out  of  the  conservatory,"  I  interrupted,  smiling. 

He  nodded,  and  took  up  the  lantern.  To  my  sur- 
prise, he  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands.  Without  an- 
other word  he  passed  out  into  the  darkness. 

In  my  dreams  that  night  I  fancied  that  a  strange  cry 
came  ringing  to  my  ears  from  the  marshes — a  long- 
drawn-out  cry  of  terror,  ending  in  a  sob.  I  was  weary, 
and  I  turned  on  my  side  again  and  slept. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE    CRY    IN    THE    NIGHT 


^  ^    '^    T'   OU'D  be  having  company  last  night, 
^^  sir?"    Mrs.    Hollings    remarked    in- 

I  quisitively. 

Mrs.  Hollings  was  an  elderly 
widow,  who  devoted  two  hours  of  her  morning  to  clean- 
ing my  rooms  and  preparing  my  breakfast. 

"Some  friends  did  call,"  I  answered,  pouring  out  the 
coffee. 

"Friends !  Good  Samaritans  I  should  call  'em,"  Mrs. 
Hollings  declared,  "if  so  be  as  they  left  all  the  things  I 
found  here  this  morning.  Why,  there's  a  whole  chicken, 
to  say  nothing  of  tongue  and  biscuits,  and  butter,  and 
relishes,  and  savouries,  the  names  of  which  isn't  often 
heard  in  this  part  of  the  world.  There's  wine,  too,  with 
gold  paper  round  the  top,  champagne  wine,  I  do  be- 
lieve." 

"Is  the  tide  up  this  morning.?"  I  asked. 

"None  to  speak  of,"  Mrs.  Hollings  answered, 
**though  the  road's  been  washed  dry,  and  the  creeks  are 
brimming.  I've  scarcely  set  foot  in  the  village  this 
morning,  but  they're  all  a-talking  about  the  soldier 


20  THE    BETRAYAL 

gentleman  the  Duke  brought  down  to  the  village  hall 
last  night.    Might  you  have  seen  him,  sir?" 

*'Yes,  I  saw  him,"  I  answered. 

"A  sad  shame  as  it  was  the  night  of  your  lecture, 
sir,"  the  woman  babbled  on,  "for  they  were  all  crazy  to 
hear  him.    My !  the  hall  was  packed." 

"Would  you  mind  seeing  to  my  room  now,  Mrs.  Rol- 
lings?" I  asked.    "I  am  going  out  early  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Rollings  ascended  my  frail  little  staircase.  I 
finished  my  breakfast  in  haste,  and  catching  up  my  hat 
escaped  out  of  doors. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  glory  of  that  morning.  The 
sky  was  blue  and  cloudless,  the  sun  was  as  hot  as  though 
this  were  indeed  a  midsummer  morning.  The  whole 
land,  saturated  still  with  the  fast  receding  sea,  seemed 
to  gleam  and  glitter  with  a  strange  iridescence.  Great 
pools  in  unaccustomed  places  shone  like  burnished  silver, 
the  wet  sands  were  sparkling  and  brilliant,  the  creeks 
had  become  swollen  rivers  full  of  huge  masses  of  emerald 
seaweed,  running  far  up  into  the  marshland  and 
spreading  themselves  out  over  the  meadows  beyond. 
There  was  salt  in  the  very  atmosphere.  I  felt  it  on  my 
tongue,  and  my  cheeks  were  rough  with  it.  Overhead 
the  seagulls  in  great  flocks  were  returning  from  shelter, 
screaming  as  though  with  joy  as  they  dived  down  to  the 
sea.    It  was  a  wonderful  morning. 

About  two  hundred  yards  past  my  cottage  the  road, 
which  from  the  village  ran  perfectly  straight,  took  a 
sharp  turn  inland,  leaving  the  coast  abruptly  on  account 
of  the  greater  stretch  of  marshland  beyond.  It  was 
towards  this  bend  that  I  walked,  and  curiously  enough, 


THE    CRY    IN    THE    NIGHT        21 

with  every  step  I  took  some  inexplicable  sense  of  nervous 
excitement  grew  stronger  and  stronger  within  me.  The 
fresh  morning  air  and  the  sunhght  seemed  powerless  to 
dissipate  for  a  moment  the  haunting  terror  of  last 
night.  It  was  a  real  face  which  I  had  seen  pressed 
against  the  window,  and  where  had  Ray  been  when 
he  returned  with  sand-clogged  boots  and  the  tell- 
tale seaweed  upon  his  trousers.?  And  later  on, 
had  I  dreamed  it,  or  had  there  really  been  a  cry.?  It 
came  back  to  me  with  horrible  distinctness.  It 
was  a  real  cry,  the  cry  of  a  man  in  terror  for  his 
life.  I  stopped  short  in  the  road  and  wiped  my  damp 
forehead.  What  a  fool  I  was!  The  night  was  over. 
Here  in  the  garish  day  there  was  surely  nothing  to 
fear.?  Nevertheless,  I,  who  had  started  out  thirsting 
only  to  breathe  the  fresh  salt  air,  now  walked 
along  with  stealthy  nervous  footsteps,  looking  all  the 
time  from  left  to  right,  starting  at  the  sight  of  a  dark 
log  on  the  sands,  terrified  at  a  broken  buoy  which  had 
floated  up  one  of  the  creeks.  Some  fear  had  come  over 
me  which  I  could  not  shake  off.  I  was  afraid  of  what 
I  might  see. 

So  I  walked  to  the  bend  of  the  road.  Here,  in  case 
the  turn  might  be  too  sharp  for  some  to  see  at  night, 
a  dozen  yards  or  so  of  white  posts  and  railings  bordered 
the  marshes.  I  leaned  over  them  for  a  moment,  telling 
myself  that  I  paused  only  to  admire  the  strange  colours 
drawn  by  the  sunlight  from  the  sea-soaked  wilderness, 
the  deep  brown,  the  strange  purple,  the  faint  pink  of 
the  distant  sands.  But  it  was  none  of  these  which  my 
eyes  sought  with  such  fierce  eagerness.    It  was  none  of 


22  THE    BETRAYAL 

the  artist's  fervour  which  turned  my  limbs  into  dead 
weights,  which  drew  the  colour  even  from  my  lips,  and 
set  my  heart  beating  with  fierce  quick  throbs.  Half  in 
the  creek  and  half  out,  not  a  dozen  yards  from  the  road, 
was  the  figure  of  a  man.  His  head  and  shoulders  were 
beneath  the  water,  his  body  and  legs  and  outstretched 
arms  were  upon  the  marsh.  And  although  never  before 
had  I  looked  upon  death,  I  knew  very  well  that  I  was 
face  to  face  with  it  now. 

How  long  it  was  before  I  moved  I  cannot  tell.  At 
last,  however,  I  climbed  the  palings,  jumped  at  its  nar- 
rowest point  a  smaller  creek,  and  with  slow  footsteps 
approached  the  dead  man.  Even  when  I  stood  by  his 
side  I  dared  not  touch  him,  I  dared  not  turn  him  round 
to  see  his  face.  I  saw  that  he  was  of  middle  size,  fairly 
well  dressed,  and  as  some  blown  sand  had  drifted  over 
his  boots  and  ankles  I  knew  that  he  had  been  there  for 
some  hours.  There  was  blood  upon  his  collar,  and  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  were  tightly  clenched.  I  told 
myself  that  I  was  a  coward,  and  I  set  my  teeth.  I  must 
lift  his  head  from  the  water,  and  cover  him  up  with  my 
own  coat  while  I  fetched  help.  But  when  I  stooped 
down  a  deadly  faintness  came  over  me.  My  fingers 
were  palsied  with  horror.  I  had  a  sudden  irresistible 
conviction  I  could  not  touch  him.  It  was  a  sheer  im- 
possibility. There  was  something  between  us  more 
potent  than  the  dread  of  a  dead  man — something  inimi- 
cal between  us  two,  the  dead  and  the  living.  I  staggered 
away  and  ran  reeling  to  the  road,  plunging  blindly 
through  the  creek. 

"About  two  hundred  yards  further  down  the  road 


THE     CRY    IN    THE    NIGHT         2S 

was  a  small  lodge  at  one  of  the  entrances  of  Rowchester. 
It  was  towards  this  I  turned  and  ran.  The  door  was 
closed,  and  I  beat  upon  it  fiercely  with  clenched  fists. 
The  woman  who  answered  it  stared  at  me  strangely.  I 
suppose  that  I  was  a  wild-looking  object. 

"It's  Mr.  Ducaine,  isn't  it?"  she  exclaimed.  "Why, 
sakes  alive!  what's  wrong,  sir?" 

"A  dead  man  in  the  marshes,"  I  faltered. 

She  was  interested  enough,  but  her  comely  weather- 
hardened  face  reflected  none  of  the  horror  which  she 
must  have  seen  on  mine. 

"Lordy  me!  whereabouts,  sir?"  she  inquired. 

I  pointed  with  a  trembling  forefinger.  She  stood 
by  my  side  on  the  threshold  of  the  cottage  and  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  for  the  glare  of  the  sun  was  daz- 
zling. 

"Well,  I  never  did!"  she  remarked.  "But  I  said  to 
John  last  night  that  I  pitied  them  at  sea.  He's  been 
washed  up  by  the  tide,  I  suppose,  and  I  count  there'll  be 
more  before  the  day's  out.  A  year  come  next  September 
there  was  six  of  'em,  gentlefolk,  too,  who'd  been  yacht- 
ing.   Eh,  but  it's  a  cruel  thing  is  the  sea." 

"Where  is  your  husband?"  I  asked. 

"Up  chopping  wood  in  Fernham  Spinney,"  she  an- 
swered. "I'd  best  send  one  of  the  children  for  him. 
He'll  have  a  cart  with  him.    Will  you  step  inside,  sir?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  answered  her  vaguely.  She  sent 
a  boy  with  a  message,  and  brought  me  out  a  chair,  dust- 
ing it  carefully  with  her  apron. 

"You'd  best  sit  down,  sir.  You  look  all  struck  of  a 
heap,  so  to  speak.     Maybe  you  came  upon  it  sudden." 


24  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  was  glad  enough  to  sit  down,  but  I  answered  her  at 
random.  She  re-entered  the  cottage  and  continued  some 
household  duties.  I  sat  quite  still,  with  my  eyes  steadily 
fixed  upon  a  dark  object  a  little  to  the  left  of  those  white 
palings.  Above  my  head  a  starhng  in  a  wicker  cage 
was  making  an  insane  cackling,  on  the  green  patch  in 
front  a  couple  of  tame  rabbits  sat  and  watched  me,  pink- 
eyed,  imperturbable.  Inside  I  could  hear  the  slow  tick- 
ing of  an  eight-day  clock.  The  woman  was  humming  to 
herself  as  she  worked.  All  these  things,  which  my 
senses  took  quick  note  of  and  retained,  seemed  to  me  to 
belong  to  another  world.  I  myself  was  under  some  sort 
of  spell.  My  brain  was  numb  with  terror,  the  fire  of 
life  had  left  my  veins,  so  that  I  sat  there  in  the  warm 
sunshine  and  shivered  until  my  teeth  chattered.  Inside, 
the  woman  was  singing  over  her  work. 

And  then  the  spell  developed.  A  nameless  but  loath- 
some fascination  drew  me  from  my  seat,  drew  me  with 
uneven  and  reluctant  footsteps  out  of  the  gate  and  down 
the  narrow  straight  road.  There  was  still  not  a  soul  in 
sight.  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  spot.  Once 
more  I  essayed  to  move  him.  It  was  utterly  in  vain. 
Such  nerve  as  I  possessed  had  left  me  wholly  and  alto- 
gether. A  sense  of  repulsion,  nauseating,  invincible, 
made  a  child  of  me.  I  stood  up  and  looked  around 
wildly.  It  was  then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  what  my 
right  foot  had  trodden  into  the  sand. 

I  picked  it  up,  and  a  little  cry,  unheard  save  by  the 
sea-birds  which  circled  about  my  head,  broke  from  my 
lips.  It  was  a  man's  signet  ring,  thin  and  worn  smooth 
with  age.    It  was  quaintly  shaped,  and  in  the  centre  was 


THE     CRY     IN     THE     NIGHT         25 

set  a  small  jet-black  stone.  The  device  was  a  bird,  and 
underneath  the  motto — "Vinco !" 

My  hand  closed  suddenly  upon  it,  and  again  I  looked 
searchingly  around.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight.  I 
slipped  the  ring  into  my  waistcoat  pocket  and  moved 
back  to  the  white  railings.  I  leaned  against  them,  and, 
taking  a  pipe  and  tobacco  from  my  pocket,  began  to 
smoke. 

Strangely  enough,  I  had  now  recovered  my  nerve.  I 
was  able  to  think  and  reason  calmly.  The  woman  at 
the  lodge  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  this  man's  body 
had  been  thrown  up  by  the  sea.  Was  that  a  possible 
conclusion  ?  There  was  a  line  all  down  the  sands  where 
the  tide  had  reached,  a  straggling  uneven  line  marked 
with  huge  masses  of  wet  seaweeds,  fragments  of  tim- 
ber, the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  sea.  The  creek 
where  the  man's  body  was  lying  was  forty  yards  above 
this.  Yet  on  such  a  night  who  could  say  where  those 
great  breakers,  driven  in  by  the  wind  as  well  as  by  their 
own  mighty  force,  might  not  have  cast  their  prey? 
Within  a  few  yards  of  him  was  a  jagged  mass  of  tim- 
ber. The  cause  of  those  wounds  would  be  obvious 
enough.  I  felt  the  ring  in  my  waistcoat  pocket — it  was 
there,  safely  enough  hidden,  and  I  looked  toward  the 
lodge.     As  yet  there  were  no  signs  of  John  or  the  cart. 

But  behind  me,  coming  from  the  village,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  light  and  rapid  footsteps.  I  turned  my  head. 
It  was  Blanche  Moyat,  short-skirted,  a  stick  in  her  hand, 
a  feather  stuck  through  her  Tam-o'-Shanter. 

"Good-morning,"  she  cried  out  heartily;  "I've  been 
to  call  at  your  cottage." 


36  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Very  kind  of  you,"  I  answered,  hesitatingly. 

Miss  Moyat  was  good-hearted,  but  a  little  over- 
powering— and  in  certain  moods  she  reminded  me  of 
her  father. 

"Oh,  I  had  an  errand,"  she  explained,  laughing. 
"Father  said  if  I  saw  you  I  was  to  say  that  he  has  to  call 
on  the  Duke  this  afternoon,  and,  if  you  hked,  he  would 
explain  about  your  lecture  last  night,  and  try  and  get 
the  village  hall  for  you  for  nothing.  The  Duke  is  very 
good-natured,  and  if  he  knows  that  he  spoilt  your 
evening,  father  thinks  he  might  let  you  have  it  for 
nothing." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  your  father,"  I  answered.  "I  do 
not  think  that  I  shall  ever  give  that  lecture  again." 

"Why  not.?"  she  protested.  "I  am  sure  I  thought  it 
a  beautiful  lecture,  and  I'm  not  keen  on  churches  and 
ruins  myself,"  she  added,  with  a  laugh  which  somehow 
grated  upon  me.     "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Watching  the  dead,"  I  answered  grimly. 

She  looked  at  me  for  an  explanation.  I  pointed  to 
the  dark  object  by  the  side  of  the  creek.  She  gave  a 
violent  start.  Then  she  screamed  and  caught  hold  of 
my  arm. 

"Mr.  Ducaine !"  she  cried.     "What  is  it?" 

"A  dead  man !"  T  answered. 

Her  face  was  a  strange  study.  There  was  fear  min- 
gled with  unwholesome  curiosity,  the  heritage  of  her 
natural  lack  of  refinement.    She  leaned  over  the  palings. 

"Oh,  how  horrible!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  don't  know 
whether  I  want  to  look  or  not.  I've  never  seen  any  one 
«dead." 


*'  She  had  advanced  to  within  a  couple  of  yards  of  him.' 


THE    CRY    IN    THE    NIGHT        37 

"I  should  advise  you,"  I  said,  "to  go  away." 

It  was  apparently  the  last  thing  she  desired  to  do.  Of 
the  various  emotions  which  had  possessed  her,  curiosity 
was  the  one  which  survived. 

"You  are  sure  he  is  dead.?"  she  asked. 

"Quite,"  I  answered. 

"Was  he  drowned,  then.''" 

"I  think,"  I  replied,  "that  he  has  been  washed  up  by 
the  tide.     There  has  probably  been  a  shipwreck." 

"Gracious!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  just  a  sailor, 
then.?" 

"I  have  not  looked  at  his  face,"  I  answered,  "and  I 
should  not  advise  you  to.  He  has  been  tossed  about  and 
injured.     His  clothes,  though,  are  not  a  seaman's." 

She  passed  through  a  gap  in  the  palings. 

"I  must  look  just  a  little  closer,"  she  exclaimed.  "Do 
come  with  me,  Mr.  Ducaine.     I'm  horribly  afraid." 

"Then  don't  go  near  him,"  I  advised.  "A  dead  man 
is  surely  not  a  pleasant  spectacle  for  you.  Come  away, 
Miss  Moyat." 

But  she  had  advanced  to  within  a  couple  of  yards  of 
him.  Then  she  stopped  short,  and  a  little  exclamation 
escaped  from  her  lips. 

"Why,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  cried  out,  "this  is  the  very 
man  who  stopped  me  last  night  outside  our  house,  and 
asked  the  way  to  your  cottage." 


CHAPTER  IV 
MISS    MOYAT'S    PROMISE 

WE  stood  looking  at  one  another  on  the 
edge  of  the  marsh.  In  the  clear  morn- 
ing sunlight  I  had  no  chance  of  escape 
or  subterfuge.  There  was  terror  in 
my  face,  and  she  could  see  it. 

"You — ^you  cannot  be  sure !"  I  exclaimed.  "It  may 
not  be  the  same  man." 

"It  is  the  same  man,"  she  answered  confidently.  "He 
stopped  me  and  asked  if  I  could  direct  him  to  your 
house.  It  was  about  half  an  hour  after  you  had  gone. 
He  spoke  very  softly  and  almost  like  a  foreigner.  I 
told  him  exactly  where  your  cottage  was.  Didn't  he 
come  to  you.^*" 

"No,"  I  answered.  "I  have  never  seen  him  before  in 
my  life." 

"Why  do  you  look — so  terrified.''"  she  asked.  "You 
are  as  pale  as  a  ghost." 

I  clutched  hold  of  the  railings.  She  came  over  to  my 
side.  Up  the  road  I  heard  in  the  distance  the  crunching 
of  heavy  wheels.  A  wagon  was  passing  through  the 
lodge  gates.    John,  the  woodman,  was  walking  with  un- 


MISS   MOYAT'S   PROMISE  29 

accustomed  briskness  by  the  horses'  heads,  cracking  his 
whip  as  he  came.  I  looked  into  the  girl's  face  by  my 
side. 

"Miss  Moyat,"  I  said  hoarsely,  "can't  you  forget 
that  you  saw  this  man  ?" 

"Why?"  she  asked  bewildered. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  dragged  into  it,"  I  answered, 
glancing  nervously  over  my  shoulder  along  the  road. 
"Don't  you  see  that  if  he  is  just  found  here  with  his 
head  and  shoulders  in  the  creek,  and  nothing  is  known 
about  him,  they  will  take  it  that  he  has  been  washed  up 
by  the  sea  in  the  stonn  last  night.?  But  if  it  is  known 
that  he  came  from  the  land,  that  he  was  seen  in  the  vil- 
lage asking  for  me — then  there  will  be  many  things 
said." 

"I  don't  see  as  it  matters,"  she  answered,  puzzled. 
"He  didn't  come,  and  you  don't  know  anything  about 
him.  But,  of  course,  if  you  want  me  to  say  noth- 
ing  " 

She  paused.    I  clutched  her  arm. 

"Miss  Moyat,"  I  said,  "I  have  strong  reasons  for  not 
wishing  to  be  brought  into  this." 

"All  right,"  she  said,  dropping  her  voice.  "I  will 
do — as  you  ask." 

There  was  an  absurd  meaning  in  her  little  side- 
glance,  which  at  another  time  would  have  put  me  on  my 
guard.  But  just  then  I  was  engrossed  with  my  own 
vague  fears.  I  forgot  even  to  remove  my  hand  from 
her  arm.  So  we  were  standing,  when  a  moment  later  the 
silence  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  galloping  horse 
coming  fast  across  the  marshes.     We   started   aside. 


so  THE    BETRAYAL 

Lady  Angela  reined  in  a  great  bay  mare  a  few  yards 
away  from  us.  Her  habit  was  all  bespattered  with  mud. 
She  had  evidently  ridden  across  country  from  one  of  the 
private  entrances  to  the  Park. 

"What  is  this  terrible  story,  Mr.  Ducaine.?"  she 
exclaimed.  *'Is  there  really  a  shipwreck.''  I  can  see  no 
signs  of  it." 

"No  shipwreck  that  I  know  of,  Lady  Angela,"  I 
answered.  "There  is  a  dead  man  here — one  only.  I 
have  heard  of  nothing  else." 

Her  eyes  followed  my  outstretched  hand,  and  she  saw 
the  body  half  on  the  sands,  half  on  the  marsh.  She 
shivered  a  little. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  it  any  one  from 
the  village,  Mr.  Ducaine  ?" 

"It  is  a  stranger.  Lady  Angela,"  I  answered.  "We 
think  that  his  body  must  have  been  washed  in  from  the 
sea." 

She  measured  the  distance  from  high-water  mark 
with  a  glance,  and  shook  her  head. 

"Too  far  away,"  she  declared. 

*'There  was  a  wild  sea  last  night,"  I  answered,  "and 
such  a  tide  as  I  have  never  seen  here  before." 

"What  are  you  doing  with  it.?"  she  asked,  pointing 
with  her  whip. 

"John  Hefford  is  bringing  a  wagon,"  I  answered. 
*'I  suppose  he  had  better  take  it  to  the  police  station." 

She  wheeled  her  horse  round. 

**I  am  glad  that  it  is  no  worse,"  she  said.  "There  are 
reports  going  about  of  a  terrible  shipwreck.  I  trust 
that  you  are  feeling  better,  Mr.  Ducaine?" 


MISS     MOYAT'S     PROMISE  31 

**I  am  quite  recovered — thanks  to  your  kindness  and 
Colonel  Ray's,"  I  answered. 

She  nodded. 

"You  will  hear  from  my  father  during  the  day,"  she 
said.  "He  is  quite  anxious  to  come  to  your  lecture. 
Good-morning." 

"Good-morning,  Lady  Angela." 

She  galloped  away.  Miss  Moyat  turned  towards  me 
eagerly. 

*'Why,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  had  no  idea 
that  you  knew  Lady  Angela." 

"Nor  do  I,"  I  answered  shortly.  "Our  acquaintance 
is  of  the  slightest." 

"What  did  she  mean  about  the  lecture?" 

I  affected  not  to  hear.  John  the  wagoner  had  pulled 
up  his  team  by  the  side  of  the  palings,  and  was  touch- 
ing his  hat  respectfully. 

"Another  job  for  the  dead  'ouse,  sir,  my  missis  tells 
me." 

"There  is  the  body  of  a  dead  man  here,  John,"  I 
answered,  "washed  up  by  the  tide,  I  suppose.  It  isn't 
an  uncommon  occurrence  here,  is  it?" 

"Lor  bless  you,  no,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  stepping 
over  the  palings.  *'I  had  three  of  them  here  in  one 
month  last  year.  If  you'll  just  give  me  a  hand,  sir, 
we'll  take  him  down  to  the  police  station." 

I  set  my  teeth  and  advanced  towards  the  dead  man. 
John  Hefford  proved  at  once  that  he  was  superior  to 
all  such  trifles  as  nerves.  He  lifted  the  body  up  and 
laid  it  for  the  first  time  flat  upon  the  sands. 

"My!  he's  had  a  nasty  smash  on  the  head,"  John 


82  THE    BETRAYAL 

remarked,  looking  down  at  him  with  simple  curiosity. 
"Quite  the  gent  too,  I  should  say.  Will  you  give  me  a 
hand,  sir,  and  we'll  have  him  in  the  wagon." 

So  I  was  forced  to  touch  him  after  all.  Nevertheless 
I  kept  my  eyes  as  far  as  possible  from  the  ghastly  face 
with  the  long  hideous  wound  across  it.  I  saw  now,  how- 
ever, in  one  swift  unwilling  glance,  what  manner  of  man 
this  was.  He  had  thin  features,  a  high  forehead,  deep- 
set  eyes  too  close  together,  a  thin  iron-grey  moustache. 
Whatever  his  station  in  life  may  have  been,  he  was  not 
of  the  labouring  classes,  for  his  hands  were  soft  and  his 
nails  well  cared  for.  We  laid  him  in  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon,  and  covered  him  over  with  a  couple  of 
sacks.  John  cracked  the  whip  and  strode  along  by  the 
side  of  the  horses.  Blanche  Moyat  and  I  followed 
behind. 

She  was  unusually  silent,  and  once  or  twice  I  caught 
her  glancing  curiously  at  me,  as  though  she  had  some- 
thing which  it  was  in  her  mind  to  say,  but  needed  en- 
couragement. As  we  neared  my  cottage  she  asked  me 
a  question. 

"Why  don't  you  want  me  to  say  that  I  saw  this  man 
in  the  village  last  night,  and  that  he  asked  for  you,  Mr. 
Ducaine.''  I  can't  understand  what  difference  it  makes. 
He  may  have  spoken  to  others  besides  me,  and  then  it  is 
bound  to  be  known.    What  harm  can  it  do  you.?" 

"I  cannot  explain  how  I  feel  about  it,"  I  answered. 
"I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  myself.  Only  you  must  see 
that  if  it  were  known  that  he  set  out  from  the  village 
last  night  to  call  upon  me,  people  might  say  unpleasant 
things." 


MISS     MOYAT'S     PROMISE  33 

She  lowered  her  voice. 

"You  mean — that  they  might  suspect  you  of  killing 
him?" 

*'Why  not?  Nobody  knows  much  about  me  here, 
and  it  would  seem  suspicious.  It  was  I  who  found  him, 
and  only  a  few  hundred  yards  from  my  cottage.  If  it 
were  known  that  he  had  left  the  village  last  night  to  see 
me,  don't  you  think  that  it  would  occur  to  any  one  to 
wonder  if  we  had  met — and  quarrelled?  There  could  be 
no  proof,  of  course,  but  the  mere  suggestion  is  unpleas- 
ant enough." 

We  were  in  the  middle  of  the  open  road,  and  the 
wagon  was  several  yards  in  front.  Nevertheless  she 
drew  a  little  closer  to  me,  and  almost  whispered  in  my 
ear — 

"Do  you  know  who  he  is,  what  he  wanted  to  see  you 
about?" 

"I  have  no  idea,"  I  answered.  "I  am  quite  sure  that 
I  never  saw  him  before  in  my  life." 

"Did  you  see  him  last  night?"  she  asked. 

"Not  to  speak  to,"  I  answered.  "I  did  catch  just  a 
glimpse  of  him,  I  believe,  in  rather  a  strange  way.  But 
that  was  all." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  saw  him  looking  in  through  my  window,  but  he 
came  no  nearer.  Lady  Angela  and  Colonel  Ray  were 
in  the  room." 

"In  your  room?" 

"Yes.  Colonel  Ray  called  to  say  that  he  was  sorry 
to  have  spoilt  my  lecture." 

"And  Lady  Angela?" 


84  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Yes." 

"She  came  in  too?" 

The  girPs  open-mouthed  curiosity  irritated  me. 

"I  happened  to  be  ill  when  Colonel  Ray  came.  They 
were  both  very  kind  to  me." 

"This  man,  then,"  she  continued,  "he  looked  in  and 
went  away?" 

"I  suppose  so,*'  I  answered.    "I  saw  no  more  of  him." 

She  turned  towards  me  breathlessly. 

"I  don't  see  how  a  fall  could  have  killed  him,  or  how 
he  could  have  wandered  off  into  the  marshes  just  there. 
The  creek  isn't  nearly  deep  enough  to  have  drowned  him 
unless  he  had  walked  deliberately  in  and  lain  down.  He 
was  quite  sober,  too,  when  he  spoke  to  me.  Mr. 
Ducaine,  how  did  he  die?    What  killed  him?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

**If  I  could  answer  you  these  questions,"  I  said,  "I 
should  feel  much  easier  in  my  own  mind.  But  I  cannot. 
I  know  no  more  about  it  than  you  do." 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  time,  but  I  saw  that  there 
was  a  new  look  in  her  face.  It  was  a  welcome  relief 
when  a  groom  from  Rowchester  overtook  us  and  pulled 
up  his  horse  by  our  side. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Ducaine,  sir?"  he  asked,  touching  his 
hat. 

'*Yes,"  I  answered. 

*'I  have  a  note  for  you  from  his  Grace,  sir,"  he  said. 
"I  was  to  take  back  an  answer  if  I  found  you  at 
home." 

He  handed  it  to  me,  and  I  tore  it  open.  It  contained 
only  a  few  lines,  in  a  large  sprawling  hand-writing. 


MISS    MOYAT'S     PROMISE  35 

"RowcHESTEK,  Wednesday  Morning. 
"The  Duke  of  Rowchester  presents  his  compliments 
to  Mr.  Ducaine,  and  would  be  much  obliged  if  he  could 
make  it  convenient    to    call    upon  him  at    Rowchester 
between  three  and  four  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

I  folded  the  note  up  and  turned  to  the  groom. 

"Will  you  tell  his  Grace,"  I  said,  "that  you  found 
me  on  the  road,  and  I  was  unable,  therefore,  to  write  my 
answer,  but  I  will  call  at  the  time  he  mentions .'"' 

The  man  touched  his  hat  and  rode  away.  Blanche 
Moyat,  who  had  been  standing  a  few  yards  off,  re- 
joined me. 

"Has  the  Duke  sent  for  you  to  go  there?"  she  asked, 
with  obvious  curiosity. 

"Yes.  He  has  offered  to  lend  me  the  village  hall," 
I  told  her.  "I  expect  that  is  what  he  wants  to  see  me 
about." 

She  tossed  her  head. 

"You  didn't  tell  me  so  just  now  when  I  told  you  that 
father  had  offered  to  speak  about  it,"  she  remarked. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said,  gravely,  "my  mind  was  full  of 
more  serious  matters." 

She  said  no  more  until  we  reached  the  front  of  the 
Moyats'  house.  Then  she  did  not  offer  me  her  hand, 
but  she  stood  quite  close  to  me,  and  spoke  in  an  unnat- 
urally low  tone. 

"You  wish  me,  then,"  she  said,  "not  to  mention  about 
that  man — his  asking  the  way  to  your  cottage  ?" 

"It  seems  quite  unnecessary,"  I  answered,  "and  it 
would  only  mean  that  I  should  be  bothered  with  ques- 
tions which  I  could  not  answer." 


86  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "Good-bye !" 

I  shuddered  to  myself  as  I  followed  the  wagon  down 
the  narrow  street  towards  the  police  station.  A  strange 
reserve  had  crept  into  her  manner  during  the  latter  por- 
tion of  our  walk.  There  was  something  in  her  mind 
which  she  shrank  from  putting  into  words.  Did  she 
believe  that  I  was  responsible  for  this  grim  tragedy 
which  had  so  suddenly  thrown  its  shadow  over  my  hum- 
drum little  life? 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  GRACIOUSNESS  OF  THE  DUKE 

AT  a  quarter-past  three  that  afternoon  I  was 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  Duke  of 
Rowchester.  I  had  never  seen  him  before, 
and  his  personahty  at  once  interested  me. 
He  was  a  small  man,  grey-haired,  keen-eyed,  clean 
shaven.  He  received  me  in  a  somewhat  bare  apartment, 
which  he  alluded  to  as  his  workroom,  and  I  found  him 
seated  before  a  desk  strewn  with  papers.  He  rose  im-  / 
mediately  at  my  entrance,  and  I  could  feel  that  he  was 
taking  more  than  usual  note  of  my  appearance. 

"You  are  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand.     "I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

He  motioned  me  to  a  chair  facing  the  window,  a  great 
uncurtained  affair,  through  which  the  north  light  came 
flooding  in,  whilst  he  himself  sat  in  the  shadows. 

"I  trust,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  quite  recovered 
from  your  last  night's  indisposition.  My  daughter 
has  been  telling  me  about  it." 

"Quite,  thank  you,"  I  answered.  "Lady  Angela  and 
Colonel  Ray  were  very  kind  to  me." 

He  nodded,  and  then  glanced  at  the  papers  on  his 
desk. 


S8  THE   BETRAYAL 

"I  have  been  going  through  several  matters  connected 
with  the  estate,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "and  I  have 
come  across  one  which  concerns  you." 

"The  proposed  lease  of  the  Grange,"  I  remarked. 

"Exactly.  It  seems  that  you  arranged  a  three  years' 
tenancy  with  ]\Ir.  Hulshaw,  my  agent,  and  were  then 
not  prepared  to  carry  it  out." 

"It  was  scarcely  my  own  fault,"  I  interposed.  "I  ex- 
plained the  circumstances  to  Mr.  Hulshaw.  I  was  prom- 
ised two  pupils  if  I  took  a  suitable  house  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood, but,  after  all  my  plans  were  concluded,  their 
father  died  unexpectedly,  and  their  new  guardian  made 
other  arrangements." 

"Exactly,"  the  Duke  remarked.  "The  only  reason 
why  I  have  alluded  to  the  matter  is  that  I  disapprove  of 
the  course  adopted  by  my  agent,  who,  I  believe,  enforced 
the  payment  of  a  year's  rent  from  you." 

*'He  was  within  his  rights,  your  Grace,"  I  said. 

*'He  may  have  been,"  the  Duke  admitted,  "but  I  con- 
sider his  action  arbitrary.  Not  only  that,  but  it  was 
unnecessary,  for  he  has  already  found  another  tenant 
for  the  place.  I  have  instructed  him,  therefore,  to  send 
you  a  cheque  for  the  amount  you  paid  him,  less  the 
actual  cost  of  preparing  the  lease." 

Now  my  entire  capital  at  that  moment  was  something 
under  three  shillings.  A  gift  of  fifty  pounds,  therefore, 
which  after  all  was  not  a  gift  but  only  the  just  return 
of  my  own  money,  was  more  than  opportune — it  was 
Heaven-sent.  If  I  could  have  given  way  to  my  feelings 
I  should  have  sprung  up  and  wrung  the  little  man's 
hands.     As  it  was,  however,  I  expect  my  face  betrayed 


THE  GRACIOUSNESS  OF  THE  DUKE   39 

my  joy.    "Your  Grace  is  exceedingly  kind,"  I  told  him. 
"The  money  will  be  invaluable  to  me  just  now." 

The  Duke  inclined  his  head. 

"I  am  only  sorry,"  he  said,  "that  Hulshaw  should 
have  exacted  it.  It  shows  how  impossible  it  is  to  leave 
the  conduct  of  one's  affairs  wholly  in  the  hands  of  an- 
other person.  Now  there  is  a  further  matter,  Mr.  Du- 
caine,  concerning  which  I  desired  to  speak  to  you.  I 
refer  to  your  projected  lecture  last  night." 

"I  beg  that  your  Grace  will  not  allude  to  it,"  I  said, 
hastily.     "It  is  really  of  very  little  importance." 

The  Duke  had  a  habit  which  I  began  at  this  time  to 
observe.  He  appeared  to  enter  into  all  discussions  with 
his  mind  wholly  made  up  upon  the  subject,  and  any 
interruptions  and  interpolations  he  simply  endured  with 
patience,  and  then  continued  on  his  way  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  them.  He  sat  during  my  remark 
with  half-closed  eyes,  and  when  I  had  finished  he  went 
on,  wholly  ignoring  it — 

"This  is  a  strange  little  corner  of  the  world,"  he  said, 
"and  the  minds  of  the  people  here  are  for  the  most  part 
like  the  minds  of  little  children ;  they  need  forming.  I 
have  heard  some  remarks  concerning  the  war  from  one 
or  two  of  my  tenants  which  have  not  pleased  me.  Ac- 
cordingly, while  Colonel  Ray  was  here,  I  thought  it  an 
excellent  opportunity  to  endeavour  to  instruct  them  as 
to  the  real  facts  of  the  case.  It  was  not  until  after  the 
affair  was  arranged — not,  indeed,  until  I  was  actually 
in  the  hall — that  I  heard  of  our  misfortune  in  selecting 
the  evening  which  you  had  already  reserved  for  your 
own  lecture.    I  trust  that  you  will  allow  me  to  offer  you 


40  THE    BETRAYAL 

the  free  use  of  the  hall  for  any  other  date  which  you 
may  select.  My  people  here,  and  I  myself,  shall  esteem 
it  a  pleasure  to  be  amongst  your  audience." 

I  was  quite  overwhelmed.  I  could  only  murmur  my 
thanks.  The  Duke  went  on  to  speak  for  a  while  on 
general  matters,  and  then  skilfully  brought  the  con- 
versation back  again  to  myself  and  my  own  affairs. 
Before  I  knew  where  I  was  I  found  myself  subjected  to 
a  close  and  merciless  cross-examination.  My  youth,  my 
college  career,  my  subsequent  adventures  seemed  all  to 
be  subjects  of  interest  to  him,  and  I,  although  every 
moment  my  bewilderment  increased,  answered  him  with 
the  obedience  of  a  schoolboy. 

It  came  to  an  end  at  last.  I  found  myself  confronted 
with  a  question  which,  if  I  had  answered  it  truthfully, 
must  have  disclosed  ray  penniless  condition.  I  rose  in- 
stead to  my  feet. 

"Your  Grace  will  excuse  me,"  I  said,  "but  I  am 
taking  up  too  much  of  your  time.  It  is  not  possible 
that  these  small  personal  details  can  be  of  any  interest 
to  you." 

He  waved  me  back  to  my  chair,  which  I  did  not,  how- 
ever, immediately  resume.  I  was  not  in  the  least  of- 
fended. The  Duke's  manner  throughout,  and  the 
framing  of  his  questions,  had  been  too  tactful  to  awaken 
any  resentment.  But  I  had  no  fancy  for  exposing  my 
ill-luck  and  friendless  state  to  any  one.  I  was  democrat 
enough  to  feel  that  a  cross-examination  which  would 
have  been  impertinent  in  anybody  else  was  becoming  a 
little  too  personal  even  from  the  Duke  of  Rowchester. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said.    "I  do  not  blame 


THE  GRACJOUSNESS  OF  THE  DUKE    41 

you  for  resenting  what  seems  to  be  curiosity,  but  you 
must  take  my  word  for  it  that  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort» 
I  can  perhaps  explain  myself  better  by  asking  you  still 
another  sort  of  question.  Are  you  in  a  position  to  ac- 
cept a  post  of  some  importance?" 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  as  well  I  might. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  repeated.  "I  have  said 
enough,  I  hope,  to  prove  that  I  am  not  trifling  with 
you." 

"You  have  managed,  at  any  rate,  to  surprise  me  very 
much,  your  Grace,"  I  said.  "I  am  eager  to  receive  em- 
ployment of  any  sort.  May  I  ask  what  it  was  that  you 
had  in  view.''" 

He  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  to-day,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  matter 
upon  which  I  should  have  to  consult  others." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me. 

"May  I  ask  at  whose  suggestion  you  thought  of  me.?'* 
I  asked. 

"It  was  Colonel  Ray  who  pointed  out  certain  neces- 
sary qualifications  which  you  possess,"  the  Duke  an- 
swered. "I  shall  report  to  him,  and  to  some  others,  the 
result  of  our  conversation,  and  I  presume  you  have  no 
objection  to  my  making  such  inquiries  as  I  think  neces- 
sary concerning  you.''" 

"None  whatever,"  I  answered. 

The  Duke  rose  to  his  feet.    I  took  up  my  cap. 

"If  Colonel  Ray  is  in,"  I  said,  "and  it  is  not  incon- 
venient, I  should  be  glad  to  see  him  for  a  moment." 

"Colonel  Ray  left  unexpectedly  by  the  first  train  this 
morning,"  the  Duke  answered,  looking  at  me  keenly. 


4S  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  gave  no  sign,  but  my  heart  sank. 

"If  it  is  anything  important  I  can  give  you  his 
address,"  he  remarked. 

*'Thank  you,"  I  answered,  "it  is  of  no  consequence." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  Duke  was  watching  me  with  peculiar  intentness. 

*'Ray  stayed  with  you  late  last  night,"  he  remarked. 

**Colonel  Ray  was  very  kind,"  I  answered. 

*'By-the-bye,"  he  said,  "I  hear  that  some  stranger 
lost  his  life  in  the  storm  last  night.  You  found  the 
body,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "There  was  a  great  deal  of 
wreckage  on  the  shore  this  morning." 

The  Duke  nodded. 

"It  was  no  one  belonging  to  the  neighbourhood,  I 
understand?"  he  asked. 

*'The  man  was  a  stranger  to  all  of  us,"  I  answered. 

The  Duke  stood  with  knitted  brows.  He  seemed  on 
the  point  of  asking  me  some  other  question,  but  appar- 
ently he  abandoned  the  idea.  He  nodded  again  and 
rang  the  bell.    I  was  dismissed. 


CHAPTER  VI 
LADY  ANGELA  GIVES  ME  SOME  ADVICE 

ROWCHESTER  was  a  curious  medley  of  a 
house,  a  mixture  of  farmhouse,  mansion, 
and  castle,  added  to  apparently  in  every 
generation  by  men  with  varying  ideas  of 
architecture.  The  front  was  low  and  irregular,  and  a 
grey  stone  terrace  ran  the  entire  length,  with  several 
rows  of  steps  leading  down  into  the  garden.  On  one  of 
these,  as  I  emerged  from  the  house.  Lady  Angela  was 
standing  talking  to  a  gardener.  She  turned  round  at 
the  sound  of  my  footsteps,  and  came  at  once  towards 
me. 

She  was  bareheaded,  and  looked  as  straight  and  slim 
as  a  dart.  I  fancied  that  she  could  be  no  more  than 
eighteen,  her  figure  and  face  were  so  girlish.  The  quiet 
composure  of  her  manner,  however,  and  the  subdued  yet 
graceful  ease  of  her  movements,  were  so  suggestive  of 
the  "great  lady,"  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  she 
was  indeed  little  more  than  a  schoolgirl. 

"I  hope  that  you  are  better,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said. 

"Thank  you.  Lady  Angela,  I  have  quite  recovered," 
I  answered. 

She  looked  at  me  critically. 


44  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  can  assure  you,"  she  said,  "that  you  look  a  very 
different  person.  You  gave  us  quite  a  fright  last 
night." 

"I  am  ashamed  to  have  been  so  much  trouble,"  I 
answered.  "Such  a  thing  has  never  happened  to  me 
before." 

'*You  must  take  more  care  of  yourself,"  she  said 
gravely.  "I  hope  that  my  father  has  expressed  him- 
self properly  about  the  lecture." 

"His  Grace  has  been  very  kind,"  I  answered.  "He 
has  promised  me  the  free  use  of  the  hall  at  any  time." 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  "I  hope  that  you  will  give 
your  lecture  soon.  I  am  looking  forward  very  much 
to  hearing  it.  This  always  seems  to  me  such  a  quaint, 
fascinating  corner  of  the  world  that  I  love  to  read  and 
hear  all  that  people  have  to  say  about  it." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  I  said ;  "but  if  you  come  I  am 
afraid  you  will  be  bored.  The  notes  which  I  have  put 
together  are  prepared  for  the  comprehension  of  the  vil- 
lage people." 

"So  much  the  better,"  she  declared.  "I  prefer  any- 
thing which  does  not  make  too  great  a  strain  upon  the 
intellect.  Besides,  it  is  the  very  simplicity  of  this 
country  which  makes  it  so  beautiful." 

"Yet  it  is  a  land,"  I  remarked,  "of  elusive  charms." 

"Sometimes,  unless  they  are  pointed  out,"  she  replied, 
"by  one  who  has  the  eye  and  ear  for  nature,  these  are 
the  hardest  to  appreciate.  Only  the  other  evening  I 
was  standing  upon  the  cliffs,  and  I  thought  what  a 
dreary  waste  of  marshes  and  sands  the  place  was,  and 
then  a  single  gleam  of  late  sunshine  seemed  to  trans- 


LADY  ANGELA   GIVES  ME  ADVICE   45 

form  everything.  There  is  hidden  colour  everywhere 
if  one  looks  closely  enough,  and  I  suppose  it  is  true  that 
the  most  beautiful  things  in  the  world  are  those  which 
remain  just  below  the  surface — a  little  invisible  until 
one  searches  for  them.  By-the-bye,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she 
added,  "if  you  are  on  your  way  home  I  can  show  you  a 
path  which  will  save  you  nearly  half  the  distance." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Lady  Angela,"  I  answered. 
"Cannot  I  find  it,  though,  without  taking  you  out  of 
your  way.?" 

She  smiled. 

"You  might,"  she  said,  "but  I  walk  down  to  the  cliffs 
every  afternoon.  I  was  just  starting  when  you  came.  It 
is  quite  a  regular  pilgrimage  with  me.  All  day  long  we 
hear  the  sea,  but  except  from  the  upper  windows  we 
have  no  clear  view  of  it.    This  is  the  path." 

We  crossed  the  Park  together.  AH  the  while  she 
talked  to  me  easily  and  naturally  of  the  country  around, 
the  great  antiquity  of  its  landmarks,  the  survival  of 
many  ancient  customs  and  almost  obsolete  forms  of 
speech.  At  last  we  came  to  a  small  plantation,  through 
which  we  emerged  on  to  the  cliffs.  Here,  to  my  sur- 
prise, we  came  upon  a  quaintly  shaped  grey  stone  cot- 
tage almost  hidden  by  the  trees.  I  had  passed  on  the 
sands  below  many  times  without  seeing  it. 

"Rather  a  strange  situation  for  a  house,  is  it  not?'* 
Lady  Angela  remarked.  "My  grandfather  built  it  for 
an  old  pensioner,  but  I  do  not  think  that  it  has  been 
occupied  for  some  time." 

"It  is  marvellously  hidden,"  I  said.  "I  never  had 
the  least  idea  that  there  was  a  house  here  at  all." 


46  THE    BETRAYAL 

We  stood  now  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  she 
pointed  downwards. 

"There  is  a  little  path  there,  you  see,  leading  to  the 
sands,"  she  said.  "It  saves  you  quite  half  the  distance 
to  your  cottage  if  you  do  not  mind  a  scramble.  You 
must  take  care  just  at  first.  So  many  of  the  stones  are 
loose." 

I  understood  that  I  was  dismissed,  and  I  thanked  her 
and  turned  away.  But  she  almost  immediately  called 
me  back. 

"Mr.  Ducaine !" 

"Lady  Angela?" 

Her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  curiously  upon  my  face. 
She  seemed  to  be  weighing  something  in  her  mind.  I 
had  a  fancy  that  when  she  spoke  again  it  would  be  with- 
out that  deliberation — almost  restraint — ^which  seemed 
to  accord  a  little  strangely  with  the  girlishness  of  her 
appearance  and  actual  years.  She  stood  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  cliff,  her  slim  straight  figure  outlined  to 
angularity  against  the  sky.  She  remained  so  long 
without  speech  that  I  had  time  to  note  all  these  things. 
The  sunshine,  breaking  through  the  thin-topped  pine 
trees,  lay  everywhere  about  us ;  a  little  brown  feathered 
bird,  scarcely  a  dozen  yards  away,  sang  to  us  so  lustily 
that  the  soft  feathers  around  his  throat  stood  out  like 
a  ruff.  Down  below  the  sea  came  rushing  on  to  the 
shingles. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said  at  last,  "did  my  father  make 
you  any  offer  of  employment  this  afternoon  ?" 

It  was  a  direct,  almost  a  blunt  question.  I  was  taken 
by  surprise,  but  I  answered  her  without  hesitation. 


LADY  ANGELA    GIVES  ME  ADVICE   47 

"He  made  me  no  definite  offer,"  I  said.  "At  the  same 
time  he  asked  me  a  great  many  questions,  for  which  he 
must  have  had  some  reason,  and  he  gave  me  the  idea 
that,  subject  to  the  approval  of  some  others,  he  was 
thinking  of  me  in  connection  with  some  post." 

"Colonel  Ray  was  telling  me,"  she  said,  "how  unfor- 
tunate you  have  been  with  your  pupils.  I  wonder — 
don't  you  think  perhaps  that  you  might  get  some 
others?" 

"I  have  tried,"  I  answered.  "So  far  I  have  not  been 
lucky.  At  present,  too,  I  scarcely  see  how  I  could 
expect  to  get  any,  for  I  have  nowhere  to  put  them.  I 
had  to  give  up  the  lease  of  the  Grange,  and  there  is  no 
house  round  here  which  I  could  afford  to  take." 

Some  portion  of  her  delicate  assurance  had  certainly 
deserted  her.     Her  manner  was  almost  nervous. 

'*If  you  could  possibly  find  the  pupils,"  she  said, 
hesitatingly,  "I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  favour.  The 
Manor  Farm  on  the  other  side  of  the  village  is  my  own, 
and  I  should  so  like  it  occupied.  I  would  let  it  to  you 
furnished  for  ten  pounds  a  year.  There  is  a  man  and 
his  wife  living  there  now  as  caretakers.  They  would  be 
able  to  look  after  you.** 

"You  are  very  kind,"  I  said  again,  "but  I  am  afraid 
that  I  could  not  take  advantage  of  such  an  offer." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  have  no  claim  upon  you  or  your  father,"  I 
answered.  *'We  are  almost  strangers,  are  we  not?  I 
might  accept  and  be  grateful  for  employment,  but  this 
is  charity." 

*'A    very   conventional   reply,   Mr.    Ducaine,"   she 


48  THE    BETRAYAL 

remarked,  with  faint  sarcasm.  "I  gave  you  credit  for 
a  larger  view  of  things." 

I  found  her  still  inexplicable.  She  was  evidently 
annoyed,  and  yet  she  did  not  seem  to  wish  me  to  be. 
There  was  a  cloud  upon  her  face  and  a  nervousness  in 
her  manner  which  I  wholly  failed  to  understand. 

"If  I  were  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes 
suddenly  to  mine,  "that  your  acceptance  of  my  offer 
would  be  a  favour — would  put  me  under  a  real  obliga- 
tion to  you.?" 

"I  should  still  have  to  remind  you,"  I  declared,  "that 
as  yet  I  have  no  pupils,  and  it  takes  time  to  get  them. 
Further,  I  have  arrived  at  that  position  when  immediate 
emploj'ment,  if  it  is  only  as  a  breaker  of  stones  upon  the 
road,  is  a  necessity  to  me." 

She  sighed. 

"My  father  will  offer  you  a  post,"  she  said  slowly. 

**Now  you  are  a  real  Samaritan,  Lady  Angela,"  I 
declared.    "I  only  hope  that  it  may  be  so." 

Her  face  reflected  none  of  my  enthusiasm. 

**You  jump  at  conclusions,"  she  said,  coldly.  *'How 
do  you  know  that  the  post  will  be  one  which  you  will 
be  able  to  fill?" 

"If  your  father  offers  it  to  me,"  I  answered,  confi- 
dently, "he  must  take  the  risk  of  that." 

I  was  surprised  at  her  speech — ^perhaps  a  little  net- 
tled. I  was  an  **Honours"  man,  an  exceptional  linguist, 
and  twenty-five.  It  did  not  seem  likely  to  me  that  there 
was  any  post  which  the  Duke  might  offer  which,  on  the 
score  of  ability,  at  any  rate,  I  should  not  be  competent 
to  fill. 


LADY  ANGELA   GIVES  ME  ADVICE  ^y 

"He  will  offer  it  you,"  she  said,  looking  steadily 
downwards  on  to  the  sands  below,  "and  you  will  accept 
it.    I  am  sorry !" 

"Sorry!"    I  exclaimed. 

"Very.  If  I  could  find  you  those  pupils  I  would," 
she  continued.  "If  I  could  persuade  you  to  lay  aside 
for  once  the  pride  which  a  man  seems  to  think  a  part 
of  his  natural  equipment,  it  would  make  me  very  happy. 
I " 

"Stop,"  I  interrupted.  "You  must  explain  this, 
Lady  Angela." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Explain  is  just  what  I  cannot,"  she  said,  sadly. 
"That  is  what  I  can  never  do." 

I  was  completely  bewildered  now.  She  was  looking 
seaward,  her  face  steadily  averted  from  mine.  As  to 
her  attitude  towards  me,  I  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
I  could  not  even  decide  whether  it  was  friendly  or  inimi- 
cal. Did  she  want  this  post  for  some  one  else?  If  so, 
surely  her  influence  with  her  father  would  be  strong 
enough  to  secure  it.  She  had  spoken  to  me  kindly 
enough.  The  faint  air  of  reserve  that  she  seemed  to 
carry  with  her  everywhere,  which,  coupled  with  a  cer- 
tain quietness  of  deportment,  appeared  to  most  of  the 
people  around  to  indicate  pride,  had  for  these  few  min- 
utes, at  any  rate,  been  lifted.  She  had  come  down  from 
the  clouds,  and  spoken  to  me  as  any  other  woman  to  any 
other  man.  And  now  she  had  wound  up  by  throwing 
me  into  a  state  of  hopeless  bewilderment. 

"Lady  Angela,"  I  said,  '*I  think  that  you  owe  me 
some  explanation.     If  you  can  assure  me  that  it  is  in 


60  THE    BETRAYAL 

any  way  against  your  wishes,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
shadow  of  a  reason  why  I  should  refuse  what  has  not 
yet  been  offered  to  me — well,  I  will  do  it.  I  will  do  it 
even  if  I  must  starve." 

A  little  forced  smile  parted  her  lips.  She  looked  at 
me  kindly. 

"I  have  said  a  great  deal  more  than  I  meant  to,  Mr. 
Ducaine.  I  think  that  it  would  have  been  better  if  I 
had  left  most  of  it  unsaid.  You  must  go  your  own  way. 
I  only  wanted  to  guard  you  against  disappointment." 

"Disappointment !    You  think,  after  all,  then " 

**No,  that  is  not  what  I  meant,"  she  interrupted. 
"I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  offered  the  post,  and  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  not  hesitate  to  accept  it.  But  never- 
theless I  think  that  it  will  bring  with  it  great  disap- 
pointments. I  will  tell  you  this.  Already  three  young 
men  whom  I  knew  very  well  have  held  this  post,  and  each 
in  turn  has  been  dismissed.  They  have  lost  the  confidence 
of  their  employers,  and  though  each,  I  believe,  was 
ambitious  and  meant  to  make  a  career,  they  have  now 
a  black  mark  against  their  name." 

"You  are  very  mysterious.  Lady  Angela,"  I  said, 
doubtfully. 

**It  is  of  necessity,"  she  answered.  "Perhaps  I  take 
rather  a  morbid  view  of  things,  but  one  of  them  was  the 
brother  of  a  great  friend  of  mine,  and  they  fear  that  he 
has  lost  his  reason.  There  are  peculiar  and  painful 
difficulties  in  connection  with  this  post,  Mr.  Ducaine, 
and  I  think  it  only  fair  to  give  you  this  warning." 

**You  are  very  kind,"  I  said.  "I  only  wish  that  the 
whole  thing  was  clearer  to  me." 


LADY  ANGELA    GIVES  ME   ADVICE   51 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "let  me  give  you  one  word  of 
advice.  You  will  be  brought  into  contact  with  many 
people  whose  integrity  will  seem  to  you  a  positive  and 
certain  thing.  Nevertheless,  treat  every  one  alike. 
Trust  no  one.  Absolutely  no  one,  Mr.  Ducaine.  It  is 
your  only  chance.    Now  go." 

Her  gesture  of  dismissal  was  almost  imperative.  I 
scrambled  down  the  path  and  gained  the  sands.  When 
I  looked  up  she  was  still  standing  there.  The  wind  blew 
her  skirts  around  her  slim  young  limbs,  and  her  hair 
was  streaming  behind  her.  Her  face  seemed  like  a  piece 
of  delicate  oval  statuary,  her  steady  eyes  seemed  fixed 
upon  some  point  where  the  clouds  and  sea  meet.  She 
took  no  heed  of,  she  did  not  even  see,  my  gesture  of 
farewell.  I  left  her  there  inscrutable,  a  child  with  the 
face  of  a  Sphinx.  She  had  set  me  a  riddle  which  I 
could  not  solve. 


CHAPTER    VII 
COLONEL    RAY'S    RING 

THE  ring  lay  on  the  table  between  us.  Colonel 
Ray  had  not  yet  taken  it  up.  In  grim 
silence  he  listened  to  my  faltering  words. 
When  I  finished  he  smiled  upon  me  as  one 
might  upon  a  child  that  needed  humouring. 

*'So,"  he  said,  slipping  the  ring  upon  his  finger,  "you 
have  saved  me  from  the  hangman.  What  remains.'* 
Your  reward,  eh.'"' 

*'It  may  seem  to  you,"  I  answered  hotly,  "a  fitting 
subject  for  jokes.  I  am  sorry  that  my  sense  of  humour 
is  not  in  touch  with  yours.  You  are  a  great  traveller, 
and  you  have  shaken  death  by  the  hand  before.  For 
me  it  is  a  new  thing.  The  man's  face  haunts  me!  I 
cannot  sleep  or  rest  for  thinking  of  it — as  I  have  seen 
it  dead,  and  as  I  saw  it  alive  pressed  against  my  window 
— that  night.  Who  was  he?  What  did  he  want  with 
me?" 

"How  do  you  know,"  Ray  asked,  "that  he  wanted 
anything  from  you.f*" 

**He  looked  in  at  my  window." 

**He  might  have  seen  me  enter." 


COLONEL    RAY'S    RING  53 

Then  I  told  him  what  I  had  meant  to  keep  secret. 

"He  asked  for  me  in  the  village.  He  was  directed  to 
my  cottage." 

Ray  had  been  filling  his  pipe.  His  fingers  paused  in 
their  task.     He  looked  at  me  steadily. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  he  asked. 

"The  person  to  whom  he  spoke  in  the  village  told  me 
so." 

"Then  why  did  that  person  not  appear  at  the  in- 
quest?" 

"Because  I  asked  her  not  to,"  I  told  him.  *'If  she 
had  given  evidence  the  verdict  must  have  been  a  differ- 
ent one." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  you  have 
acted  foolishly.  If  that  young  woman,  whoever  she 
ma}^  be,  chooses  to  tell  the  truth  later  on  you  will  be  in 
an  awkward  position." 

"If  she  had  told  the  truth  yesterday,"  I  answered, 
*'the  position  would  have  been  quite  awkward  enough. 
Let  that  go !  I  want  to  know  who  that  man  was,  what 
he  wanted  with  me." 

Colonel  Ray  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "have  you  come  from 
Braster  to  ask  that  question?" 

"To  give  you  the  ring  and  to  ask  you  that  question." 

"How  do  you  know  that  the  ring  is  mine?" 

"I  saw  it  on  your  finger  when  you  were  giving  me 
wine." 

"Then  you  believe,"  he  said,  "that  I  killed  him?" 

"It  is  no  concern  of  mine,"  I  cried  hoarsely.  "I  do 
not  want  to  know.    I  do  not  want  to  hear.    But  I  tell 


54  THE    BETRAYAL 

jou  that  the  man's  face  haunts  me.  He  asked  for  me 
in  the  village.  I  feel  that  he  came  to  Rowchester  to  see 
me.  And  he  is  dead.  Whatever  he  came  to  say  or  to 
tell  me  will  be  buried  with  him.  Who  was  he?  Tell  me 
that.?" 

Ray  smoked  on  for  a  few  moments  reflectively. 

"Sit  down,  sit  down!"  he  said  gruffly,  "and  do 
abandon  that  tragical  aspect.  The  creature  was  not 
worth  all  this  agitation.  He  lived  like  a  dog,  and  he 
died  like  one." 

"It  is  true,  then.?"  I  murmured. 

**If  you  insist  upon  knowing,"  Ray  said  coolly,  "I 
killed  him!  There  are  insects  upon  which  one's  foot 
falls,  reptiles  which  one  removes  from  the  earth  without 
a  vestige  of  a  qualm,  with  a  certain  sense  of  relief.  He 
was  of  this  order." 

"He  was  a  human  being,"  I  answered. 

'*He  was  none  the  better  for  that,"  Ray  declared.  "I 
have  known  animals  of  finer  disposition." 

"You  at  least,"  I  said  fiercely,  "were  not  his  judge. 
You  struck  him  in  the  dark,  too.  It  was  a  cowardly 
action."  '^ 

Ray  turned  his  head.  Then  I  saw  that  around  his 
neck  was  a  circular  bandage. 

"If  it  interests  you  to  know  it,"  he  remarked  drily, 
"I  was  not  the  assailant.  But  for  the  fact  that  I  was 
warned  it  might  have  been  my  body  which  you  came 
across  on  the  sands.  I  started  a  second  too  soon  for  our 
friend — and  our  exchange  of  compliments  sent  him  to 
eternity." 

"It  was  in  self-defence,  then.?'* 


COLONEL    KAY*S    RING  55 

"Scarcely  that.  He  would  have  run  away  if  he 
could.    I  decided  otherwise." 

"Tell  me  who  he  was,"  I  insisted. 

Ray  shook  his  head. 

"Better  for  you  not  to  know,"  he  remarked  reflec- 
tively.   "Much  better." 

My  cheeks  grew  hot  with  anger. 

"Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  "this  may  yet  be  a  serious 
affair  for  you.  Why  you  should  assume  that  I  am 
willing  to  be  a  silent  accessory  to  your  crime  I  can- 
not imagine.  I  insist  upon  knowing  who  this  man 
was." 

"You  have  come  to  London,"  Ray  answered  quietly, 
"to  ask  me  this?" 

"I  have  told  you  before  why  I  am  here,"  I  answered. 
*'I  will  not  be  put  off  any  longer.  Who  was  that  man, 
and  what  did  he  want  with  me.''" 

For  a  period  of  time  which  I  could  not  measure,  but 
which  seemed  to  me  of  great  duration,  there  was  silence 
between  us.    Then  Ray  leaned  over  towards  me. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  my  turn  to  talk.  You 
have  come  to  me  like  a  hysterical  schoolboy,  you  seem 
ignorant  of  the  primeval  elements  of  justice.  After  all 
it  is  not  wonderful.  As  yet  you  have  only  looked  in 
upon  life.  You  look  in,  but  you  do  not  understand. 
You  have  called  me  a  coward.  It  is  only  a  year  or  so 
since  His  Majesty  pinned  a  little  cross  upon  my  coat — 
for  valour.  I  won  that  for  saving  a  man's  life.  Mind 
you,  he  was  a  man.  He  was  a  man  and  a  comrade.  To 
save  him  I  rode  through  a  hell  of  bullets.  It  ought  to 
have  meant  death.    As  a  matter  of  fact  it  didn't.    That 


66  THE     BETRAYAL 

was  my  luck.  But  you  mustn't  call  me  a  coward, 
Ducaine.     It  is  an  insult  to  my  decoration." 

"Oh,  I  know  that  you  are  brave  enough,"  I  an- 
swered, "but  this  man  was  a  poor  weak  creature,  a  baby 
in  your  hands." 

"So  are  the  snakes  we  stamp  beneath  our  feet,"  he 
answered  coolly.  "Yet  we  kill  them.  In  Egypt  I  have 
been  in  more  than  one  hot  comer  where  we  fought  hand 
to  hand.  I  have  killed  men  more  than  once.  I  have 
watched  them  galloping  up  with  waving  swords,  and 
their  fine  faces  ablaze  with  the  joy  of  battle,  and  all  the 
time  one's  revolver  went  spit,  and  the  saddles  were 
empty.  Yet  never  once  have  I  sent  a  brave  man  to  his 
last  account  without  regret,  enemy  and  fanatic  though 
he  was.  I  am  not  a  bloodthirsty  man.  When  I  kill,  it 
is  because  necessity  demands  it.  As  for  that  creature 
whom  you  found  in  the  marshes,  well,  if  there  were  a 
dozen  such  in  this  room  now,  I  would  do  my  best  to  rid 
the  earth  of  them.  Take  my  advice.  Dismiss  the  whole 
subject  from  your  mind.  Go  back  to  Braster  and  wait. 
Something  may  happen  within  the  next  twenty-four 
hours  which  will  be  very  much  to  your  benefit.  Go  back 
to  Braster  and  wait." 

"You  will  tell  me  nothing,  then?"  I  asked.  "It  is 
treating  me  like  a  child.  I  am  not  a  sentimentalist.  If 
the  man  deserved  death  the  matter  is  between  you  and 
your  conscience.  But  he  came  to  Rowchester  to  see  me. 
I  want  to  know  why." 

"Go  back  to  Rowchester  and  wait,"  Ray  said.  "I 
shall  tell  you  nothing.  Depend  upon  it  that  his  busi- 
ness with  you,  if  he  had  any,  was  evil  business.    He  and 


COLONEL    RAY'S    RING  67 

his  whole  brood  left  their  mark  for  evil  wherever  they 
crawled." 

"His  name?"  I  asked. 

"Were  there  no  papers  upon  him?"  Ray  demanded. 

"None." 

"So  much  the  better,"  Ray  declared  grimly.  "Now, 
my  young  friend,  I  have  given  you  all  the  time  I  can 
spare.  Beyond  what  I  have  said  I  shall  say  nothing. 
If  you  had  known  me  better — you  would  not  be  here 
still." 

So  I  left  him.  His  words  gave  me  no  loophole  of 
hope.  His  silence  was  the  silence  of  a  strong  man,  and 
I  had  no  weapons  with  which  to  assail  it.  I  had  wasted 
the  money  which  I  could  ill  afford  on  this  journey  to 
London.  Certainly  Ray's  advice  was  good.  The 
sooner  I  was  back  in  Braster  the  better. 

From  the  station  I  had  walked  straight  to  Ray's 
house,  and  from  Ray's  house  I  returned,  without  any 
deviation,  direct  to  the  great  terminus.  For  a  man  with 
less  than  fifty  pounds  in  the  world  London  is  scarcely  a 
hospitable  city.  I  caught  a  slow  train,  and  after  four 
hours  of  jolting,  cold,  and  the  usual  third-class  miseries, 
alighted  at  Rowchester  Junction.  Already  I  had 
started  on  the  three  mile  tramp  home,  my  coat  collar 
turned  up  as  some  slight  protection  against  the  driz- 
zling rain,  when  a  two-wheeled  trap  overtook  me,  and 
Mr.  Moyat  shouted  out  a  gruff  greeting.  He  raised 
the  water-proof  apron,  and  I  clambered  in  by  his 
side. 

"Been  to  Sunbridge?"  he  inquired  cheerfully. 

"I  have  been  to  London,"  I  answered. 


58  THE     BETRAYAL 

"You  haven't  been  long  about  it,"  he  remarked.  "I 
saw  you  on  the  eight-twenty,  didn't  I?" 

I  nodded. 

"My  business  was  soon  over,"  I  said. 

"I've  been  to  Sunbridge,"  he  told  me.  "Went  over 
with  his  Grace.  My  girl  was  talking  about  you  the 
other  night,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

I  started.  -^ 

**Indeed?"  I  answered. 

"Seemed  to  think,"  he  continued,  "that  things  had 
been  growing  a  bit  rough  for  you,  losing  those  pupils 
after  you'd  been  at  the  expense  of  taking  the  Grange, 
and  all  that,  you  know." 

"It  was  rather  bad  luck,"  I  admitted  quietly. 

"I've  been  wondering,"  he  continued,  with  some  diffi- 
dence, ^'whether  you'd  care  for  a  bit  of  work  in  my 
office,  just  to  carry  you  along  till  things  looked  up. 
Blanche,  she  was  set  upon  it  that  I  should  ask  you 
anyway.  Of  course,  you  being  a  college  young  gentle- 
man might  not  care  about  it,  but  there's  times  when  any 
sort  of  a  job  is  better  than  none,  eh?" 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Moyat,"  I  answered, 
**and  very  kind  of  Miss  Blanche  to  have  thought  of  it. 
A  week  ago  I  shouldn't  have  hesitated.  But  within  the 
last  few  days  I  have  had  a  sort  of  offer — I  don't  know 
whether  it  will  come  to  anything,  but  it  may.  Might  I 
leave  it  open  for  the  present.'"' 

I  think  that  Mr.  Moyat  was  a  little  disappointed.  He 
flicked  the  cob  with  the  whip,  and  looked  straight  ahead 
into  the  driving  mist. 

"Just  as  you  say,"  he  declared.     "I  ain't  particular 


COLONEL    RAY'S    RING  59 

in  want  of  any  one,  but  I'm  getting  to  find  my  own 
bookkeeping  a  bit  hard,  especially  now  that  my  eyes 
ain't  what  they  were.  Of  course  it  would  only  be  a 
thirty  bob  a  week  job,  but  I  suppose  you'd  live  on  that 
all  right,  unless  you  were  thinking  of  getting  married, 
eh?" 

I  laughed  derisively. 

"Married,  Mr.  Moyat!"  I  exclaimed.  "Why,  I'm 
next  door  to  a  pauper." 

"There's  such  a  thing,"  he  remarked  thoughtfully, 
"if  one's  a  steady  sort  of  chap,  and  means  work,  as 
picking  up  a  girl  with  a  bit  of  brass  now  and  then." 

"I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  Moyat,"  I  said  as  coolly  as 
possible,  "that  anything  of  that  sort  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  should  never  dream  of 
even  thinking  of  getting  married  till  I  had  a  home  of 
my  own  and  an  income." 

He  seemed  about  to  say  something,  but  checked  him- 
self. We  drove  on  in  silence  till  we  came  to  a  dark  pile 
of  buildings  standing  a  little  way  back  from  the  road. 
He  moved  his  head  towards  it. 

"They  tell  me  Braster  Grange  Is  took  after  all,"  he 
remarked.     "Mr.  Hulshaw  told  me  so  this  morning.'* 

I  was  very  little  interested,  but  was  prepared  to  wel- 
come any  change  in  the  conversation. 

*'Do  you  know  who  is  coming  there.'*"  I  asked. 

"An  American  lady,  I  beHeve,  name  of  Lessing.  I 
don't  know  what  strangers  want  coming  to  such  a  place, 
I'm  sure." 

I  glanced  involuntarily  over  my  shoulder.  Braster 
Grange  was  a  long  grim  pile  of  buildings,  which  had 


eO  THE    BETRAYAL 

been  unoccupied  for  many  years.  Between  it  and  the  sea 
was  nothing  but  empty  marshland.  It  was  one  of  the 
bleakest  spots  along  the  coast — ^to  the  casual  observer 
nothing  but  an  arid  waste  of  sands  in  the  summer,  a 
wilderness  of  desolation  in  the  winter.  Only  those  who 
have  dwelt  in  those  parts  are  able  to  feel  the  fascination 
of  that  great  empty  land,  a  fascination  potent  enough, 
but  of  slow  growth.  Mr.  Moyat's  remark  was  justi- 
fied. 

We  drove  into  his  stable  yard  and  clambered  down. 

"You'll  come  in  and  have  a  bit  of  supper,"  Mr.  Moyat 
insisted. 

I  hesitated.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  refuse,  but 
I  was  cold  and  wet,  and  the  thought  of  my  fireless  room 
depressed  me.  So  I  was  ushered  into  the  long  low  din- 
ing-room, with  its  old  hunting  prints  and  black  oak  fur- 
niture, and,  best  of  all,  with  its  huge  log  fire.  Mrs. 
Moyat  greeted  me  with  her  usual  negative  courtesy.  I 
do  not  think  that  I  was  a  favourite  of  hers,  but  whatever 
her  welcome  lacked  in  impressiveness  Blanche's  made  up 
for.  She  kept  looking  at  me  as  though  anxious  that  I 
should  remember  our  common  secret.  More  than  once  I 
was  almost  sorry  that  I  had  not  let  her  speak. 

"You've  had  swell  callers  again,"  she  remarked,  as 
we  sat  side  by  side  at  supper-time.  "A  carriage  from 
Rowchester  was  outside  your  door  when  I  passed." 

"Ah,  he's  a  good  sort  is  the  Duke,"  Mr.  Moyat  de- 
clared appreciatively.  "A  clever  chap,  too.  He's  Al 
in  politics,  and  a  first-class  business  man,  chairman  of 
the  great  Southern  Railway  Company,  and  on  the  board 
of  several  other  City  companies." 


COLONEL    RAY'S    RING  61 

**I  can't  see  what  the  gentry  want  to  meddle  with 
such  things  at  all  for,"  Mrs.  Moyat  said.  "There's  some 
as  says  as  the  Duke's  lost  more  than  he  can  afford  by 
speculations." 

"The  Duke's  a  shrewd  man,"  Mr.  Moyat  declared. 
"It's  easy  to  talk." 

"If  he  hasn't  lost  money,"  Mrs.  Moyat  demanded, 
"why  is  Rowchester  Castle  let  to  that  American  million- 
aire?    Why  doesn't  he  live  there  himself?" 

"Prefers  the  East  Coast,"  Mr.  Moyat  declared  cheer- 
fully. "More  bracing,  and  suits  his  constitution  bet- 
ter.   I've  heard  him  say  so  himself." 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  Mrs.  Moyat  said,  "but  I  can't 
see  that  Rowchester  is  a  fit  country  house  for  a  noble 
man.     What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Ducaine?" 

I  was  more  interested  in  the  discussion  than  anxiou» 
to  be  drawn  into  it,  so  I  returned  an  evasive  reply. 
Mrs.  Moyat  nodded  sympathetically. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "you  haven't  seen  the  house 
except  from  the  road,  but  I've  been  over  it  many  a  time 
when  Mrs.  Felton  was  housekeeper  and  the  Duke  didn't 
come  down  so  often,  and  I  say  that  it's  a  poor  place  for 
a  Duke." 

"Well,  well,  mother,  we  won't  quarrel  about  it,"  Mr. 
Moyat  declared,  rising  from  the  table.  "I  must  just 
have  a  look  at  the  mare.  Do  you  look  after  Mr.  Du- 
caine, Blanche." 

To  my  annoyance  the  retreat  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moyat 
was  evidently  planned,  and  accelerated  by  a  frown  from 
their  daughter.  Blanche  and  I  were  left  alone — where- 
upon I,  too,  rose  to  my  feet." 


est  THE    BETRAYAL 

•*I  must  be  going,"  I  said,  looking  at  the  clock. 

Blanche  only  laughed,  and  bade  me  sit  down  by  her 
side. 

"I'm  so  glad  dad  brought  you  in  to-night,"  she  said. 
**Did  he  say  anything  to  you?" 

"What  about.?" 

"Never  mind,"  she  answered  archly.  *'Did  he  say 
anything  at  all.?" 

"He  remarked  once  or  twice  that  it  was  a  wet  night," 
I  said. 

*'Stupid !"  she  exclaimed.     "You  know  what  I  mean." 

"He  did  make  me  a  very  kind  offer,"  I  admitted. 

She  looked  at  me  eagerly. 

"Well.?" 

"I  told  him  that  I  am  expecting  an  ojffer  of  work  of 
some  sort  from  the  Duke.  Of  course  it  may  not  come. 
In  any  case,  it  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Moyat." 

She  drew  a  little  closer  to  me. 

"It  was  my  idea,"  she  whispered.  "I  put  it  into  his 
head." 

"Then  it  was  very  kind  of  you  too,"  I  answered. 

She  was  apparently  disappointed.  We  sat  for  sev- 
eral moments  in  silence.  Then  she  looked  around  with 
an  air  of  mystery,  and  whispered  still  more  softly  into 
my  ear — 

"I  haven't  said  a  word  about  that — to  anybody." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  I  answered.  "I  was  quite 
sure  that  you  wouldn't,  as  you  had  promised." 

Again  there  was  silence.  She  looked  at  me  with  some 
return  of  that  half  fearsome  curiosity  which  had  first 
come  into  her  eyes  when  I  made  my  request. 


COLONEL    RAY'S    RING  63 

"Wasn't  the  inquest  horrid?"  she  said.  "Father 
says  they  were  five  hours  deciding — and  there's  old  Joe 
Hassell ;  even  now  he  yon't  beHeve  that — that — he  came 
from  the  sea." 

"It  isn't  a  pleasant  subject,"  I  said  quietly.  "Let  us 
talk  of  something  else." 

She  was  swinging  a  very  much  beaded  slipper  back- 
wards and  forwards,  and  gazing  at  it  thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "I  can't  help  thinking  of 
it  sometimes.  I  suppose  it  is  terribly  wicked  to  keep 
anything  back  like  that,  isn't  it.'"' 

"If  you  feel  that,"  I  answered,  "yo;i  had  better  go 
and  tell  your  father  everything." 

She  looked  at  me  quickly. 

"Now  you're  cross,"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  why." 

"I  am  not  cross,"  I  said,  "but  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
feel  unhappy  about  it." 

"I  don't  mind  that,"  she  answered,  lifting  her  eyes  to 
mine,  "if  it  is  better  for  you." 

The  door  opened  and  Mr.  Moyat  appeared.  Blanche 
was  obviously  annoyed,  I  was  correspondingly  relieved. 
I  rose  at  once,  and  took  my  leave. 

"Blanche  got  you  to  change  your  mind?"  he  said, 
looking  at  me  closely. 

"Miss  Moyat  hasn't  tried,"  I  answered,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand.    "We  were  talking  about  something  else." 

Blanche  pushed  past  her  father  and  came  to  let  me 
out.  We  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  open  door.  She 
pointed  down  the  street. 

"It  was  just  there  he  stopped  me,"  she  said  in  a  low 


64  THE    BETRAYAL 

tone.  "He  was  very  pale,  and  he  had  such  a  slow, 
strange  voice,  just  like  a  foreigner.  It  was  in  the 
shadow  of  the  market-hall  there.  I  wish  I*d  never  seen 
him." 

A  note  of  real  fear  seemed  to  have  crept  into  her 
voice.  Her  eyes  were  straining  through  the  darkness.  I 
forced  a  laugh  as  I  Kt  my  cigarette. 

"You  mustn't  get  fanciful,"  I  declared.  "Men  die 
every  day,  you  know,  and  I  fancy  that  this  one  was  on 
his  last  legs.    Good-night." 

Her  lips  parted  as  though  in  an  answering  greeting, 
but  it  was  inaudible.  As  I  looked  round  at  the  top  of 
the  street  I  saw  her  still  standing  there  in  the  little  flood 
of  yellow  light,  gazing  across  towards  the  old  market- 
haU. 


CHAPTER   VIII 
A    WONDERFUL    OFFER 

ON  my  little  table  lay  the  letter  I  expected, 
large,  square,  and  white.     I  tore  it  open 
with  trembling  fingers.     The  handwriting 
was  firm  and  yet  delicate.     I  knew  at  once 
whose  it  was. 

**Rowchester,  Tuesday. 
"Dear  Mr.  Ducaine, — My  father  wishes  me  to  say 
that  he  and  Lord  Chelsford  will  call  upon  you  to-mor- 
row morning,  between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock. — With 
best  regards,  I  am, 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"Angela  Harberly." 

The  letter  slipped  from  my  hands  on  to  the  table. 
Lord  Chelsford  was  a  Cabinet  Minister  and  a  famous 
man.  What  could  he  have  to  do  with  any  appointment 
which  the  Duke  might  offer  me  ?  I  read  the  few  words 
over  and  over  again.  The  handwriting,  the  very  faint 
perfume  which  seemed  to  steal  out  of  the  envelope,  a 
moment's  swift  retrospective  thought,  and  my  fancy 
had  conjured  her  into  actual  life.    She  was  there  in  the 


66  THE    BETRAYAL 

room  with  me,  slim  and  shadowy,  with  her  quiet  voice 
and  movements,  and  with  that  haunting,  doubtful  look 
in  her  dark  eyes.  What  had  she  meant  by  that  curious 
warning?  What  was  the  knowledge  or  the  fear  which 
inspired  it?     If  one  could  only  understand! 

I  sat  down  in  my  chair  and  tried  to  read,  but  the 
effort  was  useless.  Directly  opposite  to  me  was  that 
black  uncurtained  window.  Every  time  I  looked  up  it 
seemed  to  become  once  more  the  frame  for  a  white  evil 
face.  At  last  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  rose  and  left 
the  house.  I  wandered  capless  across  the  marshes  to 
where  the  wet  seaweed  lay  strewn  about,  and  the  long 
waves  came  rolling  shorewards ;  a  wilderness  now  in- 
deed of  grey  mists,  of  dark  silent  tongues  of  sea-water 
cleaving  the  land.  There  was  no  wind — no  other  sound 
than  the  steadfast  monotonous  lapping  of  the  waves 
upon  the  sands.  Along  that  road  he  had  come;  the 
faintly  burning  light  upon  my  table  showed  where 
he  had  pressed  his  face  against  the  window.  Then 
he  had  wandered  on,  past  the  storm-bent  tree  at 
the  turn  of  the  road  pointing  landwards.  A  few 
yards  farther  was  the  creek  from  which  we  had 
dragged  him.  The  events  of  the  night  struggled 
to  reconstruct  themselves  in  my  mind,  and  I  fought 
against  their  slow  coalescence.  I  did  not  wish  to 
remember — ^to  believe.  In  my  heart  I  felt  that 
for  some  hidden  reason  Ray  was  my  friend.  This  visit 
of  the  Duke's,  with  whatever  it  might  portend,  Avas 
without  doubt  inspired  by  him.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  was  the  warning  of  Lady  Angela,  so 
earnestly  expressed,  so  solemn,  almost  sad.    How  could 


A     WONDERFUL    OFFER  67 

I  see  light  through  all  these  things?  How  could  I 
hope  to  understand? 

The  Duke  came  punctually,  spruce  and  debonnair,  a 
small  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  his  wizened  cheeks  aglow 
with  the  smart  of  the  stinging  east  wind.  With  him 
came  Lord  Chelsford,  whose  face  and  figure  were  famil- 
iar enough  to  me  from  the  pages  of  the  illustrated 
papers.  Dark,  spare,  and  tall,  he  spoke  seldom,  but  I 
felt  all  the  while  the  merciless  investigation  of  his 
searching  e3fes.  The  Duke,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed 
to  have  thrown  aside  some  part  of  his  customary  re- 
serve. He  spoke  at  greater  length  and  with  more  free- 
dom than  I  had  heard  him. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  began,  "I  am  not  a  man 
who  makes  idle  promises.  I  am  here  to  offer  you  em- 
ployment, if  you  are  open  to  accept  a  post  of  some  im- 
portance, and  also,  to  be  frank  with  you,  of  some 
danger." 

"If  I  am  qualified  for  the  post,  your  Grace,"  I  an- 
swered, "I  shall  be  only  too  willing  to  do  my  best.  But 
you  must  excuse  me  if  I  express  exactly  what  is  in  my 
mind.  I  am  almost  a  stranger  to  you.  I  am  a  complete 
stranger  to  Lord  Chelsford.  How  can  you  rely  upon 
my  trustworthiness?  You  must  have  so  many  young 
men  to  choose  from  who  are  personally  known  to  you. 
Why  do  you  come  to  me?" 

The  Duke  smiled  grimly. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  **we  are  only  strangers 
from  the  personal  point  of  view,  which  is  possibly  an 
advantage.  I  have  in  my  pocket  a  close  record  of  your 
days  since  you  entered  the  university.     I  know  those 


68  THE     BETRAYAL 

who  have  been  your  friends,  your  tastes,  how  you  have 
spent  your  time.  Don't  be  foolish,  young  sir,"  he 
added  sharply,  as  he  saw  the  colour  rise  in  my  cheeks : 
"you  will  have  a  trust  reposed  in  you  such  as  few  men 
have  ever  borne  before.  This  prying  into  your  life  is 
from  no  motives  of  private  curiosity.  Wait  until  you 
hear  the  importance  of  the  things  which  I  am  going 
to  say  to  you." 

I  was  impressed  into  silence. 

The  Duke  continued — 

"You  have  heard,  my  young  friend,"  he  said,  "of 
the  Committee  of  National  Defence?" 

"I  have  read  of  it,"  I  answered. 

"Good!  This  committee  has  been  formed  and  sanc- 
tioned by  the  War  Office  in  consequence  of  the  shocking 
revelations  of  inefficiency  which  came  to  light  during 
the  recent  war.  It  occurred  to  the  Prime  Minister,  as 
I  dare  say  it  did  to  most  of  the  thinking  men  in  the 
country,  that  if  our  unreadiness  to  take  the  offensive 
was  so  obvious,  it  was  possible  that  our  defensive  pre- 
cautions had  also  been  neglected.  A  board  was  there- 
fore formed  to  act  independently  of  all  existing  institu- 
tions, and  composed  chiefly  of  military  and  naval  men. 
The  Commander-in-Chief,  Lord  Chelsford,  Colonel 
Ray,  and  myself  are  amongst  the  members.  Our  man- 
date is  to  keep  our  attention  solely  fixed  upon  the 
defences  of  the  country,  to  elaborate  different  schemes 
for  repelling  different  methods  of  attack,  and  in  short 
to  make  ourselves  responsible  to  the  country  for  the 
safety  of  the  Empire.  Every  harbour  on  the  south  and 
east  coast  is  supposed  to  be  known  to  us,  every  yard  of 


A     WONDERFUL     OFFER  69 

railway  feeding  the  seaports  from  London,  all  the  secret 
fortifications  and  places,  south  of  London,  capable  of 
being  held  by  inferior  forces.  The  mobilization  of 
troops  to  any  one  point  has  been  gone  thoroughly  into, 
and  every  possible  movement  and  combination  of  the 
fleet.  These  are  only  a  few  of  the  things  which  have 
become  our  care,  but  they  are  sufficient  for  the  purpose 
of  illustration.  The  importance  of  this  Board  must  be 
apparent  to  you;  also  the  importance  of  absolute 
secrecy  as  regards  its  doings  and  movements." 

I  was  fascinated  by  the  greatness  of  the  subject. 
However,  I  answered  him  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  em- 
phatically. 

"The  Board,"  the  Duke  continued,  "has  been  meeting 
in  London.  For  the  last  few  months  we  have  had  busi- 
ness of  the  utmost  importance  on  hand.  But  on  Jan- 
uary 10,  that  is  just  six  weeks  ago,  we  came  to  a  full 
stop.  The  Commander-in-Chief  had  no  alternative  but 
temporarily  to  dissolve  the  assembly.  We  found  our- 
selves in  a  terrible  and  disastrous  position.  Lord  Ronald 
IVIatheson  had  been  acting  as  secretary  for  us.  We  met 
always  with  locked  doors,  and  the  names  of  the  twelve 
members  of  the  Board  are  the  most  honoured  in  Eng- 
land. Yet  twenty-four  hours  after  our  meetings  a  ver- 
batim report  of  them,  with  full  particulars  of  all  our 
schemes,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  French  Secret  Service." 

"Good  God!"  I  exclaimed,  startled  for  the  moment 
out  of  my  respectful  silence. 

The  Duke  himself  seemed  affected  by  the  revelation 
which  he  had  made.  He  sat  forward  in  his  chair  with 
puckered  brows  and  bent  head.     His  voice,  which  had 


70  THE     BETRAYAL 

been  growing  lower  and  lower,  had  sunk  almost  to  a 
whisper.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  made  a  sign  to  Lord 
Chelsford  to  continue.  Almost  for  the  first  time  the  man 
who  had  done  little  since  his  entrance  save  watch  me, 
spoke. 

"My  own  political  career,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "has 
been  a  long  one,  but  I  have  never  before  found  myself 
confronted  with  such  a  situation.  Even  you  can  doubt- 
less realize  its  effect.  The  whole  good  of  our  work  is 
undone.  If  we  cannot  recommence,  and  with  different 
results,  I  am  afraid,  as  an  Englishman,  to  say  what  may 
happen.  War  between  England  and  France  to-day 
would  be  like  a  great  game  of  chess  between  two  mas- 
ters of  equal  strength — one  having  a  secret  knowledge 
of  his  opponent's  each  ensuing  move.  You  can  guess 
what  the  end  of  that  would  be.  Our  only  hope  is  at  once 
to  reconstruct  our  plans.  We  are  hard  at  it  now  bj'  daj' 
and  by  night,  but  the  time  has  arrived  when  we  can  go 
no  further  without  a  meeting,  and  the  actual  committal 
to  paper  and  diagram  of  our  new  schemes.  We  have 
discussed  the  whole  matter  most  carefully,  and  we  have 
come  to  the  following  decision.  We  have  reduced  the 
number  of  the  Board  by  half,  those  who  have  resigned, 
with  certain  exceptions,  having  done  so  by  ballot.  We 
have  decided  that  instead  of  holding  our  meetings  at  the 
War  Office  they  shall  take  place  down  here  at  the  Duke's 
house,  and  so  far  as  possible  secretly.  Then,  as  re- 
gards the  secretaryship.  No  shadow  of  suspicion  rests 
upon  Lord  Ronald  any  more  than  upon  his  predecessors, 
but,  as  you  may  have  read  in  the  newspapers,  he  has 
temporarily  lost  his  reason  owing  to  the  shock,  and  has 


A     WONDERFUL    OFFER  71 

been  obliged  to  go  to  a  private  home.  We  have  de- 
cided to  engage  some  one  absolutely  without  political 
connexions,  and  whose  detachment  from  political  life 
must  be  complete.  You  have  had  a  warm  advocate  in 
Colonel  Mostyn  Ray,  and,  subject  to  some  stringent  and 
absolute  conditions,  I  may  say  that  we  have  decided  to 
offer  you  the  post." 

I  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
I  looked  as  bewildered  as  I  felt. 

**I  am  a  complete  stranger  to  all  of  you,"  I  mur- 
mured. "I  am  not  deserving  in  any  way  of  such  a  posi- 
tion." 

Lord  Chelsford  smiled. 

"You  underrate  yourself,  young  man,"  he  said  drily, 
*^or  your  college  professors  have  wandered  from  the 
truth.  Still,  your  surprise  is  natural,  I  admit.  I  will 
explain  a  little  further.  Our  choice  is  more  limited  than 
you  might  think.  At  least  fifty  names  were  proposed, 
all  of  them  of  young  men  of  the  highest  character. 
Each  one,  however,  had  some  possibly  doubtful  relative 
or  association  or  custom  in  life.  It  is  evident  that  there 
is  treachery  somewhere  in  the  very  highest  quarters. 
These  young  men  were  sure  to  be  brought  into  contact 
with  it.  Now  it  was  Ray's  idea  to  seek  for  some  one 
wholly  outside  the  diplomatic  world,  living  in  a  spot 
remote  from  London,  with  as  few  friends  as  possible, 
who  would  have  no  sentimental  objections  to  the  sur- 
veillance of  detectives.  You  appear  to  us  to  be  suit- 
able." 

**It  is  a  wonderful  offer!"  I  exclaimed. 

"In  a  sense  it  is,"  Lord  Chelsford  continued.     "The 


72  THE     BETRAYAL 

remuneration,  of  course,  will  be  high,  but  the  post  itself 
may  not  be  a  permanency,  and  you  will  live  all  the  time 
at  high  pressure.  The  Duke  will  place  a  small  house  at 
your  disposal,  and  it  will  be  required  that  you  form  no 
new  acquaintances  without  reference  to  him,  nor  must 
you  leave  this  place  on  any  account  without  permission. 
You  will  virtually  be  a  prisoner,  and  if  certain  of  my 
suspicions  are  correct  you  may  even  find  the  post  one 
of  great  physical  danger.  On  the  other  hand,  you  will 
have  a  thousand  a  year  salary,  and  a  sum  of  five 
thousand  pounds  in  two  years'  time  if  all  is  well." 

Excitement  seemed  to  have  steadied  mj  nerves.  I  for- 
got all  the  minor  tragedies  which  had  been  real  enough 
things  to  face  only  a  few  hours  ago.  I  spoke  calmly 
and  decisively. 

"I  accept.  Lord  Chelsf  ord,"  I  said.  "I  shall  count  my 
life  a  small  thing  indeed  against  my  fidelity." 

He  drummed  idly  with  his  forefinger  upon  the  table. 
His  eyes  were  wandering  around  the  room  absently.  His 
face  was  calm  and  expressionless. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  "my  business  here  is  set- 
tled. I  shall  leave  it  with  the  Duke  to  acquaint  you  with 
the  practical  details  of  your  work,  and  our  arrange- 
ment." 

He  rose  to  his  feet.     The  Duke  glanced  at  his  watch. 

*'You  have  only  just  time  for  the  train,"  he  remarked. 
*'The  car  shall  take  you  there.  I  prefer  to  walk  back, 
and  I  have  something  further  to  say  to  Mr.  Du- 
caine." 

Lord  Chelsford  took  leave  of  me  briefly,  and  the 
Duke,  after  accompanying  him  outside,  returned  to  his 


A     WONDERFUL    OFFER  73 

former  seat.  I  ventured  upon  an  incoherent  attempt  to 
express  my  gratitude,  which  he  at  once  waved  aside.  He 
leaned  over  the  table,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly 
upon  me. 

"I  am  able  now,"  he  said,  "to  ask  you  a  question  post- 
poned from  the  other  day.  It  is  concerning  the  man 
who  was  found  dead  in  the  creek." 

His  merciless  eyes  noted  my  start. 

"Ah !"  he  continued.  "I  can  see  that  you  know  some- 
thing. I  have  my  suspicions  about  this  man.  You  can 
now  understand  my  interest  when  I  hear  of  strangers 
in  the  neighbourhood.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  was  a 
derelict  from  the  sea.    Do  you.''" 

"No,"  I  answered. 

He  nodded. 

"Am  I  right,"  he  said,  "in  presuming  that  you  know 
he  was  not.?" 

"I  know  that  he  was  not,"  I  admitted. 

His  fingers  ceased  their  beating  upon  the  table.  His 
face  became  white  and  masklike. 

"Gro  on,"  he  said. 

"I  know  that  he  came  through  Braster,  and  he  asked 
for  me.  He  looked  in  through  the  window  of  my  cot- 
tage when  Colonel  Ray  was  with  me.  I  saw  him  no 
more  after  that  until  I  found  him  dead." 

"Ray  left  you  after  you  had  seen  this  man's  face  at 
the  window  .f'" 

"Yes." 

"The  wounds  about  the  man's  head  and  body.  If  he 
was  not  thrown  up  by  the  sea,  can  you  explain  them?'* 

"No,"  I  answered  with  a  shudder. 


74  THE    BETRAYAL 

"At  the  inquest  it  was  not  mentioned,  I  think,  that  he 
had  been  seen  in  the  village?" 

"It  was  not,"  I  admitted.  "Most  of  the  people  were 
at  Colonel  Ray's  lecture.  He  spoke  to  one  girl,  a  Miss 
Moyat." 

"She  did  not  give  evidence." 

"I  thought,"  I  said  in  a  low  tone,  "that  she  had 
better  not." 

"Did  you  hear  anything  after  Ray  left?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

I  could  have  cried  out,  but  my  tongue  seemed  dry 
in  my  throat. 

"There  was  a  sound,"  I  muttered,  "I  fancied  that  it 
was  a  cry.  But  I  could  not  tell.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing, and  the  sea  and  rain!     No,  I  could  not  tell." 

He  rose  up. 

"You  appear,"  he  said  drily,  "to  have  discretion. 
Cultivate  it!  It  is  a  great  gift.  I  shall  look  for  you 
at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  am  having  a  large 
house  party  this  week,  and  amongst  them  will  be  our 
friends." 

He  left  me  without  any  further  farewell,  and  turned 
slowly  homewards.  When  he  reached  the  bend  in  the 
road  he  paused,  and  remained  there  for  several  moments 
motionless.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  small  creek. 
He  seemed  to  be  measuring  the  distance  between  it  and 
the  road.  He  was  still  hngering  there  when  I  closed  the 
door. 


CHAPTER     IX 

TREACHERY 

W  M  ^  HE  sunlight  was  streaming  through  the  win- 
I  dow  when  at  last  my  pen  ceased  to  move.    I 

■  rubbed  my  eyes  and  looked  out  in  momen- 

tary amazement.  Morning  had  already 
broken  across  the  sea.  My  green-shaded  lamp  was 
burning  with  a  sickly  light.  The  moon  had  turned  pale 
and  colourless  whilst  I  sat  at  my  desk. 

I  stretched  myself  and,  lighting  a  cigarette,  com- 
menced to  collect  my  papers.  Immediately  a  dark 
figure  rose  from  a  couch  in  the  farther  comer  of  the 
room  and  approached  me. 

"Can  I  get  you  anything,  sir?" 

I  turned  in  my  chair.  The  man-servant  whom  the 
Duke  had  put  in  charge  of  the  "Brand,"  my  present 
habitation,  and  who  remained  with  me  always  in  the 
room  while  I  worked,  stood  at  my  elbow. 

"I  would  like  some  coffee,  Grooton,"  I  said.  "I  am 
going  to  walk  up  to  the  house  with  these  papers,  and 
I  shall  want  a  bath  and  some  breakfast  directly  I  get 
back." 

"Very  good,  sir.     It  shall  be  ready." 

I  folded  up  the  sheets  and  maps,  and  placing  them 


76  THE     BETRAYAL 

in  an  oilskin  case,  tied  them  round  my  body  under  my 
waistcoat.  Then  I  withdrew  all  the  cartridges  save  one 
from  the  revolver  which  had  lain  all  night  within  easy 
reach  of  my  right  hand,  and  slipped  it  into  my  pocket. 

"Coffee  ready,  Grooton?" 

"In  one  moment,  sir." 

I  watched  him  bending  over  the  stove,  pale,  dark- 
visaged,  with  the  subdued  manners  and  voice  which 
mark  the  aristocracy  of  servitude.  My  employer's  con- 
fidence in  him  must  be  immense,  for  while  he  watched 
over  me  I  was  practically  in  his  power. 

"Have  you  been  long  with  the  Duke,  Grooton?"  I 
asked  him. 

"Twenty-one  years,  sir.  I  left  his  Grace  to  go  to 
Lord  Chelsford,  who  found  me  some  work  in  London." 

"Secret  service  work,  wasn't  it,  Grooton?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

*'Interesting?" 

"Some  parts  of  it  very  interesting,  sir." 

I  nodded  and  drank  my  coffee.  Grooton  was  watch- 
ing me  with  an  air  of  respectful  interest. 

"You  will  pardon  my  remarking  it,  sir,  but  I  hope 
you  will  try  and  get  some  sleep  during  the  day.  You 
are  very  pale  this  morning,  sir." 

I  looked  at  the  glass,  and  was  startled  at  my  own 
reflection.  This  was  only  my  third  day,  and  the 
responsibilities  of  my  work  were  heavy  upon  me.  My 
cheeks  were  sunken  and  there  were  black  rings  around 
my  eyes. 

"I  will  lie  down  when  I  come  back,  Grooton,"  I 
answered. 


TREACHERY  77 

Outside,  the  fresh  morning  wind  came  like  a  sudden 
^weet  tonic  to  my  jaded  nerves.  I  paused  for  a  moment 
to  face  bareheaded  the  rush  of  it  from  the  sea.  As  I 
stood  there,  drinking  it  in,  I  became  suddenly  aware  of 
light  approaching  footsteps.  Some  one  was  coming 
towards  the  cottage  from  the  Park. 

I  did  not  immediately  turn  my  head,  but  every  nerve 
in  my  body  seemed  to  stiffen  into  quivering  curiosity. 
The  pathway  was  a  private  one  leading  from  the  house 
only  to  the  "Brand,"  and  down  the  cliff  to  Braster.  It 
was  barely  seven  o'clock,  and  the  footsteps  were  no 
labouring  man's.  I  think  that  I  knew  very  well  who  it 
was  that  came  so  softly  down  the  cone-strewn  path. 

We  faced  one  another  with  little  of  the  mask  of  sur- 
prise. She  came  like  a  shadow,  flitting  between  the 
slender  tree  trunks  out  into  the  sunshine,  where  for  a 
moment  she  seemed  wan  and  white.  Her  dark  eyes 
flashed  a  greeting  at  me.  I  stood  cap  in  hand  before 
her.  It  was  the  first  time  we  had  met  since  I  had  taken 
up  my  abode  at  the  "Brand." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said.  "You  need 
not  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  ghost.  I  always 
walk  before  breakfast  in  the  country." 

"There  is  no  better  time,"  I  answered. 

"You  look  as  though  you  had  been  up  all  night,"  she 
remarked. 

"I  had  work  to  finish,"  I  told  her. 

She  nodded. 

"So  you  would  have  none  of  my  advice,  Mr.  Secre- 
tary," she  said  softly,  coming  a  little  nearer  to  me. 
*'You  are  already  installed." 


78  THE     BETRAYAL 

"Already  at  work,"  I  asserted. 

She  glanced  towards  the  "Brand." 

"I  hope  that  you  are  comfortable,"  she  said.  "A 
couple  of  hours  is  short  notice  in  which  to  make  a  place 
habitable." 

"Grooton  is  a  magician,"  I  told  her.  "He  has  ar- 
ranged everything." 

"He  is  a  wonderful  servant,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

A  white-winged  bird  floated  over  our  heads  and 
drifted  away  skywards.     She  followed  it  with  her  eyes. 

"You  wonder  at  seeing  me  so  early,"  she  murmured. 
"Don't  you  think  that  it  is  worth  while  ?  Nothing  ever 
seems  so  sweet  as  this  first  morning  breeze." 

I  bowed  gravely.  She  was  standing  bareheaded  now 
at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  watching  the  flight  of  the  bird. 
It  was  delightful  to  see  the  faint  pink  come  back  to  her 
cheeks  with  the  sting  of  the  salt  wind.  Nevertheless,  I 
had  an  idea  in  my  mind  that  it  was  not  wholly  for  her 
health's  sake  that  Lady  Angela  walked  abroad  so  early. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  presently,  "have  you  had  a  visitor 
this  morning?" 

"What,  at  this  hour.f"'  I  exclaimed. 

"There  are  other  early  risers  besides  you  and  me," 
she  said.  "The  spinney  gate  was  open,  so  some  one  has 
passed  through." 

I  shook  my  head. 

**I  have  not  seen  or  heard  a  soul,"  I  told  her.  **I  have 
just  finished  some  work,  and  I  am  on  my  way  up  to  the 
house  with  it." 

"You  really  mean  it?"  she  persisted. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  I  answered  her.    "Grooton  is  the 


TREACHERY  79 

only  person  I  have  spoken  to  for  at  least  nine  hours. 
Why  do  you  ask?" 

She  hesitated. 

"My  window  looks  this  way,"  she  said,  "and  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  some  one  cross  the  Park  while  I  was  dressing. 
The  spinney  gate  was  certainly  open." 

**Then  I  fancy  that  it  has  been  open  all  night,"  I 
declared,  "for  to  the  best  of  my  belief  no  one  has  passed 
through  it  save  yourself.  May  I  walk  with  you  back 
to  the  house,  Lady  Angela,?  There  is  something  which 
I  should  very  much  like  to  ask  you." 

She  replaced  her  hat,  which  she  had  been  carrying 
in  her  hand.  I  stood  watching  her  deft  white  fingers 
flashing  amongst  the  thick  silky  coils  of  her  hair.  The 
extreme  slimness  of  her  figure  seemed  accentuated  by 
her  backward  poise.  Yet  perhaps  I  had  never  before 
properly  appreciated  its  perfect  gracefulness. 

"I  was  going  farther  along  the  cliffs,"  she  said,  "but 
I  will  walk  some  of  the  way  back  with  you.  One 
minute." 

She  stood  on  the  extreme  edge,  and,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand,  she  looked  up  and  down  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  sand — a  great  untenanted  wilderness.  I  won- 
dered for  whom  or  what  she  was  looking,  but  I  asked 
no  question.  In  a  few  moments  she  rejoined  me,  and 
we  turned  inland. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  is  It  that  you  wish  to  say?" 

"Lady  Angela,"  I  began,  "a  few  weeks  ago  there  was 
no  one  whose  prospects  were  less  hopeful  than  mine. 
Thanks  to  your  father  and  Colonel  Ray  all  that  is 
changed.    To-day  I  have  a  position  I  am  proud  of,  and 


80  THE     BETRAYAL 

important  work.  Yet  I  cannot  help  always  remember- 
ing this:  I  am  holding  a  post  which  you  warned  me 
against  accepting." 

"Well?" 

"I  am  very  curious,"  I  said.  "I  have  never  under- 
stood your  warning.  I  believe  that  you  were  in  earnest. 
Was  it  that  you  believed  me  incapable  or  untrustwor- 
thy, or " 

"You  appear  to  me,"  she  murmured,  "to  be  rather  a 
curious  person," 

I  bent  forward  and  looked  into  her  face.  There  was 
in  her  wonderful  eyes  a  glint  of  laughter  which  became 
her  well.  She  walked  with  slow  graceful  ease,  her 
hands  behind  her,  her  head  almost  on  a  level  with  my 
own.  I  found  myself  studying  her  with  a  new  pleasure. 
Then  our  eyes  met,  and  I  looked  away,  momentarily 
confused.  Was  it  my  fancy,  or  was  there  a  certain 
measure  of  rebuke  in  her  cool  surprise,  a  faint  indica- 
tion of  her  desire  that  I  should  remember  that  she  was 
the  Lady  Angela  Harberly,  and  I  her  father's  secre- 
tary? I  bit  my  lip.  She  should  not  catch  me  offend- 
ing again,  I  determined. 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  I  said  stiffly,  "but  your 
warning  seemed  a  little  singular.  If  you  do  not  choose 
to  gratify  my  curiosity,  it  is  of  no  consequence." 

"Since  you  disregarded  it,"  she  remarked,  lifting  her 
dress  from  the  dew-laden  grass  on  to  which  we  had 
emerged,  "it  does  not  matter,  does  it?  Only  you  are 
very  young,  and  you  know  little  of  the  world.  Lord 
Ronald  was  your  predecessor,  and  he  is  in  a  lunatic 
asylum.    No  one  knows  what  lies  behind  certain  unfor- 


TREACHERY  81 

fcunate  things  which  have  happened  during  the  last 
months.    There  is  a  mystery  which  is  as  yet  unsolved." 

I  smiled. 

"In  your  heart  you  are  thinking,"  I  said,  "that  such 
an  unsophisticated  person  as  myself  will  be  an  easy  prey 
to  whatever  snares  may  be  laid  for  me.     Is  it  not  so?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  uplifted  eyebrows. 

"Others  of  more  experience  have  been  worsted,"  she 
remarked  calmly.     "Why  not  you.'^" 

"If  that  is  a  serious  question,"  I  said,  "I  will  answer 
it.  Perhaps  my  very  inexperience  will  be  my  best 
friend." 

"Yes.?" 

"Those  before  me,"  I  continued,  "have  thought  that 
they  knew  whom  to  trust.  I,  knowing  no  one,  shall 
trust  no  one." 

"Not  even  me.?"  she  asked,  half  turning  her  head 
towards  me. 

"Not  even  you,"  I  answered  firmly. 

A  man's  figure  suddenly  appeared  on  the  left.  I 
looked  at  him  puzzled,  wondering  whence  he  had 
come. 

"Here  is  your  good  friend,  Colonel  Mostyn  Ray," 
she  remarked,  with  a  note  of  banter  in  her  tone.  "What 
about  him.?" 

"Not  even  Colonel  Mostyn  Ray,"  I  answered.  "The 
notes  which  I  take  with  me  from  each  meeting  are  to  be 
read  over  from  my  elaboration  at  the  next.  Nobody  is 
permitted  to  hold  a  pen  or  to  make  a  note  whilst  they 
are  being  read.  Afterwards  I  have  your  father's 
promise  that  not  even  he  will  ask  for  even  a  cursory 


S%  THE    BETRAYAL 

glance  at  them.  I  deliver  them  sealed  to  Lord  Chels- 
ford." 

Ray  came  up  to  us.  His  dark  eyebrows  were  drawn 
close  together,  and  I  noticed  that  his  boots  were  clogged 
with  sand.  He  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had 
been  walking  far  and  fast. 

"You  keep  up  your  good  habits,  Lady  Angela,"  he 
said,  raising  his  cap. 

"It  is  my  only  good  one,  so  I  am  loth  to  let  it  go," 
she  answered.  "If  you  were  as  gallant  as  you  appear  to 
be  energetic,"  she  added,  glancing  at  his  boots,  "you 
would  have  stopped  when  I  called  after  you,  and  taken 
me  for  a  walk." 

His  eyes  shot  dark  lightnings  at  her. 

"I  did  not  hear  you  call,"  he  said. 

**You  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  intended  to 
hear  nothing  and  see  nothing,"  she  remarked  coolly. 
"Never  mind !  There  will  be  no  breakfast  for  an  hour 
yet.    You  shall  take  me  on  to  Braster  Hill.    Come !" 

They  left  me  at  a  turn  in  the  path.  I  saw  their  heads 
close  together  in  earnest  conversation.  I  went  on 
towards  the  house. 

I  entered  by  the  back,  and  made  my  way  across  the 
great  hall,  which  was  still  invaded  by  domestics  with 
brushes  and  brooms.  Taking  a  small  key  from  my 
watch-chain,  I  unfastened  the  door  of  a  room  almost 
behind  the  staircase,  and  pushed  it  open.  The  curtains 
were  drawn,  and  the  room  itself,  therefore,  almost  in 
darkness.  I  carefully  locked  myself  in,  and  turned  up 
the  electric  light. 

The  apartment  was  a  small  one,  and  contained  only 


TREACHERY  83 

a  few  pieces  of  heavy  antique  furniture.  Behind  the 
curtains  were  iron  shutters.  In  one  corner  was  a  strong 
safe.  I  walked  to  it,  and  for  the  first  time  I  permitted 
myself  to  think  of  the  combination  word.  Slowly  I 
fitted  it  together,  and  the  great  door  swung  open. 

There  were  several  padlocked  dispatch-boxes,  and, 
on  a  shelf  above,  a  bundle  of  folded  papers.  I  took  this 
bundle  carefully  out  and  laid  it  on  the  table  before  me. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  undoing  the  red  tape  with  which 
it  was  tied,  when  my  fingers  became  suddenly  rigid.  I 
stared  at  the  packet  with  wide-open  eyes.  I  felt  my 
breath  come  short  and  my  brain  reeling.  The  papers 
were  there  sure  enough,  but  it  was  not  at  them  that  I 
was  looking.  It  was  the  double  knot  in  the  pink  tape 
which  fascinated  me. 


CHAPTER    X 

AN   EXPRESSION   OF   CONFIDENCE 

1HAVE  no  exact  recollection  of  how  long  I  spent 
in  that  little  room.  After  a  while  I  closed  the 
door  safe,  and  reset  the  combination  lock  with 
trembling  fingers.  Then  I  searched  all  round, 
but  could  find  no  traces  of  any  recent  intruder.  I  undid 
the  heavy  shutters,  and  let  in  a  stream  of  sunshine. 
Outside,  Ray  and  Lady  Angela  were  strolling  up  and 
down  the  terrace.  I  watched  the  latter  with  fascinated 
eyes.  It  was  from  her  that  this  strange  warning  had 
come  to  me,  this  warning  which  as  yet  was  only  imper- 
fectly explained.  What  did  she  know?  Whom  did  she 
suspect.?  Was  it  possible  that  she,  a  mere  child,  had 
even  the  glimmering  of  a  suspicion  as  to  the  truth.''  My 
eyes  followed  her  every  movement.  She  walked  with  all 
the  lightsome  grace  to  which  her  young  limbs  and  breed- 
ing entitled  her,  her  head  elegantly  poised  on  her  slender 
neck,  her  face  mostly  turned  towards  her  companion,  to 
whom  she  was  talking  earnestly.  Even  at  this  distance 
I  seemed  to  catch  the  inspiring  flash  of  her  dark  eyes, 
to  follow  the  words  which  fell  from  her  lips  so  gravely. 
And  as  I  watched  a  new  idea  came  to  me.  I  turned 
slowly  away  and  went  in  search  of  the  Duke. 


AN   EXPRESSION    OF    CONFIDENCE    85 

I  found  him  sitting  fully  dressed  in  an  anteroom  lead- 
ing from  his  bedroom,  with  a  great  pile  of  letters  before 
him,  and  an  empty  postbag.  He  was  leaning  forward, 
his  elbow  upon  the  table,  his  head  resting  upon  his  right 
hand.  Engrossed  as  I  was  with  my  own  terrible  dis- 
covery, I  was  yet  powerfully  impressed  by  his  un- 
familiar appearance.  In  the  clear  light  which  came 
flooding  in  through  the  north  window  he  seemed  to  me 
older,  and  his  face  more  deeply  lined  than  any  of  my 
previous  impressions  of  him  had  suggested.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  mass  of  correspondence  before  him, 
most  of  which  was  as  yet  unopened,  and  his  expression 
was  one  of  absolute  aversion.  At  my  entrance  he  looked 
up  inquiringly. 

"What  do  you  want,  Ducaine?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  your  Grace,"  I  an- 
swered. "I  have  come  to  place  my  resignation  in  your 
hands." 

His  face  was  expressive  enough  in  its  frowning  con- 
tempt, but  he  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  during  which 
his  eyes  met  mine  mercilessly. 

"So  you  find  the  work  too  hard,  eh?"  he  asked. 

"The  work  is  just  what  I  should  have  chosen,  your 
Grace,"  I  answered.  "I  like  hard  work,  and  I  expected 
it.  The  trouble  is  that  I  have  succeeded  no  better  than 
Lord  Ronald." 

My  words  were  evidently  a  shock  to  him.  He  half 
opened  his  lips,  but  closed  them  again.  I  saw  the  hand 
which  he  raised  to  his  forehead  shake. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Ducaine?     Speak  out,  man." 

"The  safe  in  the  study  has  been  opened  during  the 


86  THE    BETRAYAL 

night,"  I  said.  "Our  map  of  the  secret  fortifications 
on  the  Surrey  downs  and  plans  for  a  camp  at  Guilford 
have  been  examined." 

"How  do  you  know  this.?" 

"I  tied  the  red  tape  round  them  in  a  peculiar  way.  It 
has  been  undone  and  retied.  The  papers  have  been  put 
back  in  a  different  order." 

The  Duke  was  without  doubt  agitated.  He  rose  from 
his  chair  and  paced  the  room  restlessly. 

**You  are  sure  of  what  you  say,  Ducaine.?"  he  de- 
manded, turning,  and  facing  me  suddenly. 

"Absolutely  sure,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

He  turned  away  from  me. 

"In  my  own  house,  under  my  own  roof,"  I  heard 
him  mutter.     "Good  God !" 

I  had  scarcely  believed  him  capable  of  so  much  feel- 
ing. When  he  resumed  his  seat  and  former  attitude  I 
could  see  that  his  face  was  almost  gray. 

"This  is  terrible  news,"  he  said.  "I  am  not  at  all  sure, 
though,  Mr.  Ducaine,  that  any  blame  can  attach  itself 
to  you." 

"Your  Grace,"  I  answered,  "there  were  three  men 
only  who  knew  the  secret  of  that  combination.  One  is 
yourself,  another  Colonel  Ray,  the  third  myself.  I 
set  the  lock  last  night.  I  opened  it  this  morning.  I 
ask  you,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  upon  whom  the 
blame  is  likely  to  fall?  If  I  remain  this  will  happen 
again.  I  cannot  escape  suspicion.  It  is  not  reason- 
able." 

"The  word  was  a  common  one,"  the  Duke  said  half 
to  himself.     "Some  one  may  have  guessed  it." 


AN   EXPRESSION    OF    CONFIDENCE    87 

"Your  Grace,"  I  said,  "is  it  likely  that  any  one  would 
admit  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing?" 

"It  may  have  been  overheard." 

*'It  has  never  been  spoken,"  I  reminded  him.  "It 
was  written  down,  glanced  at  by  all  of  us,  and  de- 
stroyed." 

The  Duke  nodded. 

"You  are  right,"  he  admitted.  "The  inference  is 
positive  enough.  The  safe  has  been  opened  between  the 
hours  of  ten  at  night  and  seven  o'clock  this  morning 
by » 

"By  either  myself,  Colonel  Ray,  or  your  Grace,"  I 
said. 

*'I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  prepared  to  admit  that," 
the  Duke  objected  quietly. 

"It  is  inevitable !"  I  declared. 

"Only  the  very  young  use  that  word,"  the  Duke  said 
drily. 

"I  spoke  only  of  what  others  must  say,"  I  answered. 

"It  is  a  cut  de  sac,  I  admit,"  the  Duke  said.  "Never- 
theless, Mr.  Ducaine,  I  am  not  prepared  without  consid- 
eration to  accept  your  resignation.  I  cannot  see  that 
our  position  would  be  improved  in  any  way,  and  in  my 
own  mind  I  may  add  that  I  hold  you  absolved  from  sus- 
picion." 

I  held  myself  a  little  more  upright.  The  Duke  spoke 
without  enthusiasm,  but  with  conviction. 

"Your  Grace  is  very  kind,"  I  answered  gratefully, 
**but  there  are  the  others.  They  know  nothing  of  me. 
It  is  inevitable  that  I  should  become  an  object  of  sus- 
picion to  them." 


88  THE     BETRAYAL 

The  Duke  looked  thoughtfully  for  several  moments 
at  the  table  before  him.    Then  he  looked  up  at  me. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "I  will  tell  you  what  I  propose. 
You  have  done  your  duty  in  reporting  this  thing  to  me. 
Your  duty  ends  there — mine  begins.  The  responsibil- 
ity, therefore,  for  our  future  course  of  action  remains 
with  me.    You,  I  presume,  are  prepared  to  admit  this." 

"Certainly,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

*'I  see  no  useful  purpose  to  be  gained,"  the  Duke 
continued,  "in  spreading  this  thing  about.  I  believe 
that  we  shall  do  better  by  keeping  our  own  counsel.  You 
and  I  can  work  secretly  in  the  matter.  I  may  have 
some  suggestions  to  make  when  I  have  considered  it  more 
fully;  but  for  the  present  I  propose  that  we  treat  the 
matter  as  a  hallucination  of  yours.  We  shall  hear  in 
due  course  if  this  stolen  information  goes  across  the 
water.     If  it  does — well,  we  shall  know  how  to  act." 

"You  mean  this.''"  I  asked  breathlessly.  "Forgive  me, 
your  Grace,  but  it  means  so  much  to  me.  You  believe 
that  we  are  justified?" 

"Why  not .?"  the  Duke  asked  coldly.  "It  is  I  who  am 
your  employer.  It  is  I  who  am  responsible  to  the 
country  for  these  things.  You  are  responsible  only  to 
me.  I  choose  that  you  remain.  I  choose  that  you 
speak  of  this  matter  only  when  I  bid  you  speak." 

To  me  it  was  relief  immeasurable.  The  Duke's  man- 
ner was  precise,  even  cold.  Yet  I  felt  that  he  believed 
in  me.  I  scarcely  doubted  but  that  he  had  suspicions  of 
his  own.  I,  at  any  rate,  was  not  involved  in  them.  I 
could  have  wrung  him  by  the  hand  but  for  the  inappro- 
priateness  of  such  a  proceeding.    So  far  as  he  was  con- 


AN    EXPRESSION    OF    CONFIDENCE    89 

cerned  I  could  see  that  the  matter  was  already  done 
with.  His  attention  was  beginning  to  wander  to  the 
mass  of  letters  before  him. 

"Would  you  allow  me  to  help  your  Grace  with  your 
correspondence.?"  I  suggested.  "I  have  no  work  at 
present." 

The  Duke  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "My  man  of  business  will  be 
here  this  morning,  and  he  will  attend  to  them.  I  will  not 
detain  you,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

I  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  found  myself  face  ta 
face  with  a  young  man  in  the  act  of  entering  it. 

**Blenavon !"  the  Duke  exclaimed. 

"How  are  you,  sir.?"  the  newcomer  answered.  "Sorry 
I  didn't  arrive  in  time  to  see  you  last  night.  We  motored 
from  King's  Lynn,  and  the  whole  of  this  respectable 
household  was  in  bed." 

I  knew  at  once  who  he  was.  The  Duke  looked  towards^ 
me. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "this  is  my  son,  Lord  Blen- 
avon." 

Lord  Blenavon's  smile  was  evidently  meant  to  be 
friendly,  but  his  expression  belied  it.  He  was  slightly 
taller  than  his  father,  and  his  cast  of  features  was  alto- 
gether different.  His  cheeks  were  pale,  almost  sunken, 
his  eyes  were  too  close  together,  and  they  had  the  dim- 
ness of  the  roue  or  the  habitual  dyspeptic.  His  lips 
were  too  full,  his  chin  too  receding,  and  he  was  almost 
bald. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Ducaine  ?"  he  said.  "Awful  hour 
to  be  out  of  bed,  isn't  it  ?  and  all  for  the  slaying  of  a  few 


90  THE     BETRAYAL 

fat  and  innocent  birds.  Let  me  see,  wasn't  I  at  Mag- 
dalen with  you?" 

"I  came  up  in  your  last  year,"  I  reminded  him. 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember,"  he  drawled.  "Terrible  close 
worker  you  were,  too.  Are  you  breakfasting  down- 
stairs, sir?" 

"I  think  that  I  had  better,"  the  Duke  said.  "I  sup- 
pose you  brought  some  men  with  you?" 

"Half  a  dozen,"  Lord  Blenavon  answered,  "including 
his  Royal  Highness." 

The  Duke  thrust  all  his  letters  into  his  drawer,  and 
locked  them  up  with  a  little  exclamation  of  relief. 

"I  will  come  down  with  you,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Ducaine, 
you  will  join  us." 

I  would  have  excused  myself,  for  indeed  I  was  weary, 
and  the  thought  of  a  bath  and  rest  at  home  was  more 
attractive.  But  the  Duke  had  a  way  of  expressing  his 
wishes  in  a  manner  which  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  mis- 
take, and  I  gathered  that  he  desired  me  to  accept  his  in- 
vitation.    We  all  descended  the  stairs  together. 


CHAPTER    XI 
HIS   ROYAL   HIGHNESS 

THE  long  dining-room  was  almost  filled  with  a 
troop  of  guests  who  had  arrived  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  Most  of  the  men  were  gathered 
round  the  huge  sideboard,  on  which  was  a 
formidable  array  of  silver-covered  hot-water  dishes. 
Places  were  laid  along  the  flower-decked  table  for  thirty 
or  forty.  I  stood  apart  for  a  few  moments  whilst  the 
Duke  was  greeting  some  of  his  guests.  Ray,  who  was 
sitting  alone,  motioned  me  to  a  place  by  him. 

"Come  and  sit  here,  Ducaine,"  he  said;  "that  is," 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  sarcastic  gleam  in  his  dark 
eyes,  "unless  you  still  have  what  the  novelists  call  an 
unconquerable  antipathy  to  me.  I  don't  want  to  rc^ 
you  of  your  appetite." 

"I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  down  here  again  so 
soon,  Colonel  Ray,"  I  answered  gravely.    "I  congratu- 
late you  upon  your  nerves." 
Ray  laughed  softly  to  himself. 
"You  would  have  me  go  shuddering  past  the  fatal 


92  THE    BETRAYAL 

spot,  I  suppose,  with  shaking  knees  and  averted  head, 
eh?  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  down  on  the  sands 
for  more  than  an  hour  this  morning,  and  have  returned 
with  an  excellent  appetite." 

I  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"I  saw  you  returning,"  I  said.  "Your  boots  looked 
as  though  3'ou  had  been  wading  in  the  wet  sand.  You 
were  not  there  without  a  purpose." 

"I  was  not,"  he  admitted.  "I  seldom  do  anything 
without  a  purpose." 

For  a  moment  he  abandoned  the  subject.  He  pro- 
ceeded calmly  with  his  breakfast,  and  addressed  a  few 
remarks  to  a  man  across  the  table,  a  man  with  short 
cropped  hair  and  beard,  and  a  shooting  dress  of  sombre 
black. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said,  turning  towards  me 
suddenly.  "I  had  a  purpose  in  going  there.  I  thought 
that  the  gentleman  whose  untimely  fate  has  enlisted 
your  sympathies  might  have  dropped  something  which 
would  have  been  useful  to  me." 

For  the  moment  I  forgot  this  man's  kindness  to  me. 
I  looked  at  him  with  a  shudder. 

"If  you  are  in  earnest,"  I  said,  "I  trust  that  you  were 
unsuccessful." 

I  fancied  that  there  was  that  in  his  glance  which  sug- 
gested the  St.  Bernard  looking  down  on  the  terrier,  and 
I  chafed  at  it. 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  you,"  he  said,  grimly, 
*'had  my  search  met  with  better  result." 

"For  me.''"  I  repeated. 

*'For  3'ou !    Yes  !    The  man  came  to  see  you.    If  he 


HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS  93 

had  been  alive  you  might  have  been  in  his  toils  by  now. 
He  was  a  very  cunning  person,  and  those  who  sent  him 
were  devils." 

"How  do  you  know  these  things?"  I  asked,  amazed. 

*'From  the  letters  which  I  ripped  from  his  coat,"  he 
answered. 

"He  came  to  Braster  to  see  me,  then.'*"  I  exclaimed. 

"Precisely." 

"And  the  letters  which  you  took  from  him — ^were 
they  addressed  to  me.''" 

"They  were." 

I  was  getting  angry,  but  Ray  remained  imper- 
turbable. 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "you  will  admit  that  I  have  a  right 
to  them." 

"Not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered.  "In 
fact,  it  was  so  obvious  that  I  destroyed  them." 

"Destroyed  my  letters !" 

"Precisely !  I  chose  that  course  rather  than  allow 
them  to  fall  into  your  hands." 

"You  admit,  then,"  I  said,  "that  I  had  a  right  to 
them." 

"Indubitably.     But  they  do  not  exist." 

"You  read  them,  without  doubt.  You  can  acquaint 
me  with  their  contents." 

"Some  day,"  he  said,  "I  probably  shall.  But  not 
yet.  Believe  me  or  not,  as  you  choose,  but  there  are 
certain  positions  in  which  ignorance  is  the  only  pos- 
sible safe  state.  You  are  in  such  a  position  at  the 
present  moment." 

"Are  you,"  I  asked,  "my  moral  guardian  ?" 


94  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  have  at  least,"  he  said,  "incurred  certain  responsi- 
bilities on  your  behalf.  You  could  no  longer  hold  your 
present  post  and  be  in  communication  with  the  sender 
of  those  letters." 

My  anger  died  away  despite  myself.  The  man's 
strength  and  honesty  of  purpose  were  things  which  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  doubt.  I  continued  my 
breakfast  in  silence. 

"By-the-bye,"  he  remarked  presently,  "you,  too,  my 
young  friend,  were  out  early  this  morning." 

"I  was  writing  all  night,"  I  answered.  "I  had  docu- 
ments to  put  in  the  safe." 

He  shot  a  quick  searching  glance  at  me. 

"You  have  been  to  the  safe  this  morning,  then?" 

I  answered  him  with  a  composure  at  which  I  inwardly 
marvelled. 

"Certainly !    It  was  the  object  of  my  coming  here." 

"You  entered  the  room  with  the  Duke.  Was  he  in 
the  study  at  that  hour.''" 

*'No,  I  went  upstairs  to  him.  I  had  a  question  to 
ask." 

"And  you  have  met  Lord  Blenavon?  What  do  you 
think  of  him?" 

"We  were  at  Magdalen  together  for  a  term,"  I  an- 
swered.    "He  was  good  enough  to  remember  me." 

Ray  smiled,  but  he  did  not  speak  another  word  to 
me  all  the  breakfast-time.  Once  I  made  a  remark  to 
him,  and  his  reply  was  curt,  almost  rude.  I  left  the 
room  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  and  came  face  to  face 
in  the  hall  with  Lady  Angela. 

"I  am  glad,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  remarked,  "that  your 


HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS  96 

early  morning  labours  have  given  you  an  appetite.  You 
have  been  in  to  breakfast,  have  you  not?" 

"Your  father  was  good  enough  to  insist  upon  it,"  I 
answered. 

"You  have  seen  him  already  this  morning,  then?" 

"For  a  few  minutes  only,"  I  explained.  "I  went  up 
to  his  room." 

"I  trust  so  far  that  everything  is  going  on  satisfac- 
torily?" she  inquired,  raising  her  eyes  to  mine. 

I  did  not  answer  her  at  once.  I  was  engaged  in  mar- 
velling at  the  wonderful  pallor  of  her  cheeks. 

"So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  think  so,"  I  said. 
"Forgive  me.  Lady  Angela,"  I  added,  "but  I  think  that 
you  must  have  walked  too  far  this  morning.  You  are 
very  pale." 

"I  am  tired,"  she  admitted. 

There  was  a  lounge  close  at  hand.  She  moved  slowly 
towards  it,  and  sat  down.  There  was  no  spoken  invita- 
tion, but  I  understood  that  I  was  permitted  to  remain 
with  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  looking  round  to  make  sure 
that  we  were  alone,  "I  dread  these  meetings  of  the 
Council.  I  have  always  the  feeling  that  something  ter- 
rible will  happen.  I  knew  Lord  Ronald  very  well,  and 
his  mother  was  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  I  am  sure 
that  he  was  perfectly  innocent.  And  to-day  he  is  in  a 
madhouse.     They  say  that  he  will  never  recover." 

I  did  not  wish  to  speak  about  these  things,  even  with 
Lady  Angela.  I  tried  to  lead  the  conversation  into 
other  channels,  but  she  absolutely  ignored  my  attempt. 

"There  is  something  about  it  all  so  grimly  mysteri- 


96  THE    BETRAYAL 

ous,"  she  said.  "It  seems  almost  as  though  there  must 
be  a  traitor,  if  not  in  the  Council  itself,  in  some  special 
and  privileged  position." 

She  looked  up  at  me  as  though  asking  for  confirma- 
tion of  her  views.    I  shook  my  head. 

"Lady  Angela,"  I  said,  "would  you  mind  if  I  ab- 
stained from  expressing  any  opinion  at  all.?  It  is  a 
subject  which  I  feel  it  is  scarcely  right  for  me  to  dis- 
cuss." 

She  looked  at  me  with  wide-open  eyes,  a  dash  of  inso- 
lence mingled  with  her  surprise.  I  do  not  know  what 
she  was  about  to  say,  for  at  that  moment  the  young 
man  with  the  sombre  shooting  suit  and  closely  cropped 
hair  paused  for  a  moment  on  his  way  out  of  the  break- 
fast-room. He  glanced  at  me,  and  I  received  a  brief 
impression  of  an  unwholesome-looking  person  with  pro- 
tuberant eyeballs,  thin  lashes,  and  supercilious  mouth. 

"I  trust  that  the  day's  entertainment  will  include 
something  more  than  a  glimpse  of  Lady  Angela,"  he 
said,  with  a  low  bow. 

She  raised  her  eyes.  It  seemed  to  me,  who  was  watch- 
ing her  closely,  that  she  shrank  a  little  back  in  her  seat. 
I  was  sure  that  she  shared  my  instinctive  dislike  of  the 
man. 

"I  think  not,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  you  are  expecting 
me  to  come  down  with  the  lunch  and  compliment  you 
all  upon  your  prowess." 

"It  would  be  delightful!"  he  murmured. 

She  shook  her  head. 

**There  are  too  many  of  you,  and  I  am  too  few,"  she 
said  lightly.    "Besides,  shooting  is  one  of  the  few  sports 


HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS  97 

with  which  I  have  no  sympathy  at  all.  I  shall  try  and 
get  somewhere  away  from  the  sound  of  your  guns." 

"I  myself,"  he  said,  "am  not  what  you  call  a  devotee 
of  the  sport.  I  wonder  if  part  of  the  day  one  might 
play  truant.  Would  Lady  Angela  take  pity  upon  an 
unentertained  guest.''" 

"I  should  find  it  a  shocking  nuisance,"  she  said, 
coolly.  "Besides,  it  would  not  be  allowed.  You  will 
find  that  when  my  father  has  once  marshalled  you, 
escape  is  a  thing  not  to  be  dreamed  of.  Every  one  says 
that  he  is  a  perfect  martinet  where  a  day's  shooting  is 
concerned." 

He  smiled  enigmatically. 

"We  shall  see,"  he  remarked,  as  he  turned  away. 

Lady  Angela  watched  him  disappear. 

"Do  you  know  who  that  is  ?"  she  asked  me. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Some  one  French,  very  French,"  I  remarked. 

**He  should  be,"  she  remarked.  "That  is  Prince 
Henri  de  Malors.  He  represents  the  hopes  of  the  Roy- 
alists in  France." 

"It  is  very  interesting,"  I  murmured.  "May  I  ask 
is  he  an  old  family  friend.''" 

"Our  families  have  been  connected  by  marriage,"  she 
answered.  "He  and  Blenavon  saw  a  great  deal  of  one 
another  in  Paris,  very  much  to  the  disadvantage  of  my 
brother,  I  should  think.  I  believe  that  there  was  some 
trouble  at  the  Foreign  Office  about  it." 

"It  is  very  interesting,"  I  repeated. 

"Blenavon  was  very  foolish,"  she  declared.  **It  was 
obviously  a  most   indiscreet   friendship    for  him,   and 


98  THE    BETRAYAL 

Paris  was  his  first  appointment.     But  I  must  go  and 
speak  to  some  of  these  people." 

She  rose  and  left  me  a  little  abruptly.  I  escaped  by 
one  of  the  side  entrances,  and  hurried  back  to  my 
cottage. 


CHAPTER   XII 

AN  ACCIDENT 

THE  Prince  accepted  my  most  comfortable 
easy  chair  with  an  air  of  graceful  conde- 
scension. Lady  Angela  had  already  seated 
herself.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Grooton  was  busy  in  the  room  behind,  preparing  my 
tea. 

"The  Prince  did  not  care  to  shoot  to-day,"  Lady 
Angela  explained,  "and  I  have  been  showing  him  the 
neighbourhood.  Incidentally,  I  am  dying  for  some 
tea,  and  the  Prince  has  smoked  all  his  cigarettes." 

The  Prince  raised  his  hand  in  polite  expostulation, 
but  he  accepted  a  cigarette  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

"You  have  found  a  very  lonely  spot  for  your  dwell- 
ing-house, Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said.  "You  English  are 
so  fond  of  solitude." 

"It  suits  me  very  well,"  I  answered,  **for  just  now  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do.  I  am  safely  away 
from  all  distractions  here." 

Lady  Angela  smiled  at  me. 

*'Not  quite  so  safe  perhaps,  Mr.  Ducaine,  as  you 
fondly  imagined,"  she  remarked.  **I  am  afraid  that  we 
disturbed  you.     You  look  awfully  busy." 


100  THE     BETRAYAL 

She  glanced  towards  my  writing-table.  It  was  cov- 
ered with  papers,  and  a  map  of  the  southern  counties 
leaned  up  against  the  wall.  The  Prince  also  was  glanc- 
ing curiously  in  the  same  direction. 

"I  have  finished  my  work  for  the  day,"  I  said,  rising. 
"If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  put  it  away." 

Grooton  brought  in  tea.  The  Prince  was  politely 
curious  as  to  the  subject  matter  of  those  closely  writ- 
ten sheets  of  paper. 

"You  are  perhaps  interested  in  literature,  Mr. 
Ducaine,"  he  remarked. 

"Immensely,"  I  answered,  waving  my  hand  towards 
my  bookshelves. 

"But  you  yourself — you  no  doubt  write?" 

"Oh,  one  tries,"  I  answered,  pouring  out  the  tea. 

**It  may  be  permitted  then  to  wish  you  success,"  he 
remarked  dryly. 

"You  are  very  good,"  I  answered. 

Lady  Angela  calmly  interposed.  The  Prince  ate 
buttered  toast  and  drank  tea  with  a  bland  affectation  of 
enjoyment.    They  rose  almost  immediately  afterwards. 

"You  are  coming  up  to  the  house  this  evening,  Mr. 
Ducaine?"  Lady  Angela  asked. 

"I  am  due  there  now,"  I  answered.  "If  you  will 
allow  me,  I  will  walk  back  with  you." 

The  Prince  touched  my  arm  as  Lady  Angela  passed 
out  before  us. 

"I  am  anxious,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  looking  me  in 
the  face,  "for  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation  with 
you.  I  shall  perhaps  be  fortunate  enough  to  find  you 
at  home  to-morrow." 


AN    ACCIDENT  101 

He  did  not  wait  for  my  answer,  for  Lady  Angela 
looked  back,  and  he  hastened  to  her  side.  He  seemed  in 
no  hurry,  however,  to  leave  the  place.  The  evening  was 
cloudy  and  unusually  dark.  A  north  wind  was  tearing 
through  the  grove  of  stunted  firs,  and  the  roar  of  the 
incoming  sea  filled  the  air  with  muffled  thunder.  The 
Prince  looked  about  him  with  a  little  grimace. 

"It  is  indeed  a  lonely  spot,"  he  remarked.  "One  can 
imagine  anything  happening  here.  Did  I  not  hear  of  a 
tragedy  only  the  other  day — a  man  found  dead  ?" 

"If  you  have  a  taste  for  horrors.  Prince,"  I  remarked, 
**you  can  see  the  spot  from  the  edge  of  the  cliff  here." 

The  Prince  moved  eagerly  forward. 

"I  disclaim  all  such  weakness,"  he  said,  "but  the 
little  account  which  I  read,  or  did  some  one  tell  me  of  it? 
— ah,  I  forget ;  but  it  interested  me." 

I  pointed  downwards  to  where  the  creek-riven 
marshes  merged  into  the  sands. 

"It  was  there — a  little  to  the  left  of  the  white  pal- 
ings," I  said.  "The  man  was  supposed  to  have  been 
cast  up  from  the  sea." 

He  measured  the  distance  with  his  eye.  I  anticipated 
his  remark. 

"The  tide  is  only  halfway  up  now,"  I  said,  "and  on 
that  particular  night  there  was  a  terrible  gale." 

"Nevertheless,"  he  murmured,  half  to  himself,  "it  Is 
a  long  way.  Was  the  man  what  you  call  Identified,  Mr. 
Ducalnei*" 

"No!" 

"There  were  no  letters  or  papers  found  upon  him?" 

"None." 


102  THE    BETRAYAL 

The  Prince  looked  at  me  sharply. 

*'That,"  he  said  softly,  "was  strange.  Does  it  not 
suggest  to  you  that  he  may  have  been  robbed?" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  it,"  I  answered.  "The  ver- 
dict, I  believe,  was  simply  Found  drowned." 

"Found  drowned,"  the  Prince  repeated.  "Ah! 
Found  drowned.  By-the-bye,"  he  added  suddenly, 
"who  did  find  him.?" 

"I  did,"  I  said  coolly. 

"You?"  The  Prince  peered  at  me  closely  through 
the  dim  light.  "That,"  he  said  reflectively,  "is  inter- 
esting." 

"You  find  it  so  interesting,"  I  remarked,  "that  per- 
haps you  could  help  to  solve  the  question  of  the  man's 
identity." 

He  seemed  startled. 

"I?"  he  exclaimed.  "But,  no.  Why  should  you 
think  that?" 

I  turned  to  join  Lady  Angela.  He  did  not  imme- 
diately follow. 

"Why  did  you  bring  him?"  I  asked  her  softly.  "You 
had  some  reason." 

"He  was  making  inquiries  about  you,"  she  answered, 
*'secretly  and  openly.  I  thought  you  ought  to  know, 
and  I  could  think  of  no  other  way  of  putting  you  on 
your  guard." 

"The  Prince  of  Malors !"  I  murmured.  "He  surely 
would  not  stoop  to  play  the  spy." 

She  was  silent,  and  moved  a  step  or  two  farther  away 
from  the  spot  where  he  still  stood  as  though  absorbed. 
His  angular  figure  was   clearly  defined  through  the 


AN    ACCIDENT  103 

twilight  against  the  empty  background  of  space.  He 
was  on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff,  almost  looking  over. 

"I  know  very  little  about  him  myself,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly, "but  I  have  heard  the  others  talk.  Lord  Chels- 
ford  especially.  He  is  a  man,  they  say,  with  a  twofold 
reputation.  He  has  played  a  great  part  in  the  world 
of  pleasure,  almost  a  theatrical  part;  but,  you  know, 
the  French  people  like  that." 

"It  is  true,"  I  murmured.  "They  love  their  heroes 
decked  in  tinsel." 

She  nodded. 

*'They  say  that  it  is  part  of  a  pose,  and  that  he  has 
serious  political  ambitions.  He  contemplates  always 
some  great  scheme  which  shall  make  him  the  idol,  if  only 
for  a  day,  of  the  French  mob.  A  day  would  be  suffi- 
cient, for  he  would  strike  while — ^Prince,  be  careful," 
she  called  out.    "Ah!" 

We  heard  a  shrill  cry,  and  we  saw  the  Prince  sway  on 
the  verge  of  the  cliff.  He  threw  up  his  arms  and 
clutched  wildly  at  the  air,  but  he  was  too  late  to  save 
himself.  We  saw  the  ground  crumble  beneath  his  feet, 
and  with  a  second  cry  of  despair  he  disappeared. 

Grooton,  Lady  Angela,  and  I  reached  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  at  about  the  same  moment.  We  peered  over  in 
breathless  anxiety.  Lady  Angela  clutched  my  arm,  and 
for  a  moment  I  did  not  in  the  least  care  what  had  hap- 
pened to  the  Prince. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  I  whispered.  **The  descent 
is  not  by  any  means  sheer.  He  can't  possibly  have  got 
to  the  bottom.    I  will  clamber  down  and  look  for  him." 

She  shuddered. 


104  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Oh,  you  mustn't,"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  not  safe. 
How  terrible  it  looks  down  there !" 

I  raised  my  voice  and  shouted.  Almost  immediately 
there  came  an  answer. 

"I  am  here,  my  friends,  in  the  middle  of  a  bush.  I 
dare  not  move.  It  is  so  dark  I  cannot  see  where  to  put 
my  foot.  Can  you  lower  me  a  lantern,  and  I  will  see 
if  I  can  climb  up  V^ 

Grooton  hastened  back  to  the  cottage. 

"I  think  you  will  be  all  right,"  I  cried  out.  "It  is 
not  half  as  steep  as  it  looks." 

"I  believe,"  he  answered,  "that  I  can  see  a  path  up. 
But  I  will  wait  until  the  lantern  comes." 

The  lantern  arrived  almost  immediately.  We  lowered 
it  to  him  by  a  rope,  and  he  examined  the  face  of  the 
cliff. 

"I  think  that  I  can  get  up,"  he  cried  out,  *'but  I 
should  like  to  help  myself  with  the  rope.  Can  you  both 
hold  it  tightly.?" 

"All  right,"  I  answered.    "We've  got  it." 

He  clambered  up  with  surprising  agility.  But  as  he 
reached  the  edge  of  the  cliff  he  groaned  heavily. 

"Are  you  hurt  ?"  Lady  Angela  asked. 

"It  is  my  foot,"  he  muttered,  "my  left  foot.  I 
twisted  it  in  falling." 

Grooton  and  I  helped  him  to  the  cottage.  He  hob- 
bled painfully  along  with  tightly  clenched  lips. 

**I  shall  have  to  ask  for  a  pony  cart  to  get  up  to  the 
house,  I  am  afraid,"  he  said.  "I  am  very  sorry  to  give 
you  so  much  trouble,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

"The  trouble  is   nothing,"  I   answered,  "but   I   am 


AN    ACCIDENT  105 

wondering  how  on  earth  you  managed  to  fall  over  the 
cliff." 

"I  myself,  I  scarcely  know,"  he  answered,  as  he 
sipped  the  brandy  which  Grooton  had  produced.  "I 
am  subject  to  fits  of  giddiness,  and  one  came  over  me 
as  I  stood  there  looking  down.  I  felt  the  ground  sway, 
and  remember  no  more,  I  am  very  sorry  to  give  you 
all  this  trouble,  but  indeed  I  fear  that  I  cannot  walk." 

"We  will  send  you  down  a  cart,"  I  declared.  "You 
will  have  rather  a  rough  drive  across  the  grass,  but 
there  is  no  other  way." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  declared.  "I  am  in  despair 
at  my  clumsiness." 

I  gave  him  my  box  of  cigarettes.  Lady  Angela  hesi- 
tated. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  I  ought  to  stay  with  you. 
Prince,  while  Mr.  Ducaine  goes  up  for  the  cart." 

"Indeed,  Lady  Angela,  you  are  very  kind,"  he  an- 
swered, "but  I  could  not  permit  it.  I  regret  to  say  that 
I  am  in  some  pain,  and  I  have  a  weakness  for  being 
alone  when  I  suffer.  If  I  desire  anything  Mr.  Du- 
caine's  servant  will  be  at  hand." 

So  we  left  him  there.  At  any  other  time  the  prospect 
of  that  walk  with  Lady  Angela  would  have  filled  me 
with  joy.  But  from  the  first  moment  of  leaving  the 
cottage  I  was  uneasy. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  man?"  I  asked  her 
abruptly.    "I  mean  personally?" 

"I  hate  him,"  she  answered  coolly.  "He  is  one  of 
those  creatures  whose  eyes  and  mouth,  and  something 
underneath  his  most  respectful  words,  seem  always  to 


106  THE    BETRAYAL 

suggest  offensive  things.  I  find  it  very  hard  indeed  to 
be  civil  to  him." 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  what  Colonel  Ray  thinks 
of  him .'"'  I  asked  her. 

"I  have  no  special  knowledge  of  Colonel  Ray's  likes 
or  dislikes,"  she  answered. 

"Forgive  me,"  I  said.  "I  thought  that  you  and  he 
were  very  intimate,  and  that  you  might  know.  I  won- 
der whether  he  takes  the  Prince  seriously." 

''Colonel  Ray  is  one  of  my  best  friends,"  she  said, 
**but  I  am  not  in  his  confidence." 

A  slight  reserve  had  crept  into  her  tone.  I  stole  a 
glance  at  her  face;  paler  and  more  delicate  than  ever 
it  seemed  in  the  gathering  darkness.  Her  lips  were 
firmly  set,  but  her  eyes  were  kind.  A  sudden  desire  for 
her  sympathy  weakened  me. 

"Lady  Angela,"  I  said,  "I  must  talk  to  some  one.  I 
do  not  know  whom  to  trust.  I  do  not  know  who  is 
honest.  You  are  the  only  person  whom  I  dare  speak  to 
at  all." 

She  looked  round  cautiously.  We  were  out  of  the 
plantation  now,  in  the  open  park,  where  eavesdropping 
was  impossible. 

"You  have  a  difficult  post,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said, 
"and  you  will  remember " 

"Oh,  I  remember,"  I  interrupted.  "You  warned  me 
not  to  take  it.  But  think  in  what  a  position  I  was.  I 
had  no  career,  I  was  penniless.  How  could  I  throw 
away  such  a  chance?" 

"Something  has  happened — ^this  morning,  has  it 
not.''"  she  asked. 


'  It  was  Lady  Angela  who  stood  upon  the  threshold." 


AN    ACCIDENT  107 

I  nodded. 

"Yes." 

She  waited  for  me  to  go  on.  She  was  deeply  inter- 
ested. I  could  hear  her  breath  coming  fast,  though  we 
were  walking  at  a  snail's  pace.  I  longed  to  confide  in 
her  absolutely,  but  I  dared  not. 

*'Do  not  ask  me  to  tell  you  what  it  was,"  I  said. 
*'The  knowledge  would  only  perplex  and  be  a  burden  to 
you.    It  is  all  the  time  like  poison  in  my  brain." 

We  were  walking  very  close  together.  I  felt  her 
fingers  suddenly  upon  my  arm  and  her  soft  breath  upon 
my  cheek. 

"But  if  you  do  not  tell  me  everything — ^how  can  you 
expect  my  sympathy,  perhaps  my  help.?" 

"I  may  not  ask  you  for  either,"  I  answered  sadly. 
**The  knowledge  of  some  things  must  remain  between 
your  father  and  myself." 

"Between  my  father — and  yourself!"  she  repeated. 

I  was  silent,  and  then  we  both  started  apart. 
Behind  us  we  could  hear  the  sound  of  footsteps  rapidly 
approaching,  soft  quick  footsteps,  muffled  and  almost 
noiseless  upon  the  spongy  turf.    We  stood  stilL 


CHAPTER   XIII 
A    BRIBE 

I  WHEELED  round  and  peered  into  the  darkness. 
Lady  Angela's  fingers  clutched  my  arm.  I  could 
feel  that  she  was  trembling  violently.  It  was 
Grooton  whose  figure  loomed  up  almost  imme- 
diately before  us — Grooton,  bareheaded  and  breathless. 

"What  is  it.?"  I  exclaimed  quickly. 

**I  think,  sir,  that  you  had  better  return,"  he  panted. 

He  pointed  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  "Brand," 
and  I  understood.  In  a  moment  I  was  on  my  way 
thither,  running  as  I  had  not  done  since  my  college  days. 
I  stumbled  over  antheaps,  and  more  than  once  I  set  my 
foot  in  a  rabbit  hole,  but  somehow  I  kept  my  balance. 
As  I  neared  the  cottage  I  slackened  my  speed  and  pro- 
ceeded more  stealthily.  I  drew  close  to  the  window  and 
peered  in.  Grooton  had  been  right  indeed  to  fetch  me. 
The  Prince  was  standing  before  my  desk,  with  a  bundle 
of  papers  in  his  hand.  I  threw  open  the  door  and  en- 
tered the  room.  Swift  though  my  movement  had  been, 
a  second's  difficulty  with  the  catch  had  given  the  Prince 
his  opportunity.  He  was  back  in  his  easy  chair  when  I 
entered,  reclining  there  with  half-closed  eyes.  He 
looked  up  at  me  with  well  simulated  surprise. 


A    BRIBE  109 

*'You  are  soon  back,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  remarked 
calmly.     "Did  you  forget  something?" 

"I  forgot,"  I  answered,  struggling  to  recover  my 
breath,  "to  lock  up  my  desk." 

"An  admirable  precaution,"  he  admitted,  watching  as 
I  gathered  my  papers  together,  "especially  if  one  has 
v^aluables.  It  is  an  exposed  spot  this,  and  very 
lonely." 

"I  am  curious,"  I  said,  leaning  against  the  table  and 
facing  him,  "I  am  curious  to  know  which  of  my  poor 
possessions  can  possibly  be  of  interest  or  value  to  the 
Prince  of  Malors." 

The  calm  hauteur  of  his  answering  stare  was  excel- 
lently done.     I  had  a  glimpse  now  of  the  aristocrat. 

"You  speak  in  enigmas,  young  man,"  he  said. 
"Kindly  be  more  explicit." 

"My  language  can  scarcely  be  more  enigmatic  than 
your  actions,"  I  answered.  "I  was  fool  enough  to  trust 
you  and  I  left  you  here  alone.  But  you  were  not  unob- 
served. Prince.  My  servant,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  is 
faithful.    It  was  he  who  summoned  me  back." 

"Indeed !"  he  murmured. 

**I  might  add,"  I  continued,  "that  I  took  the  liberty 
of  looking  in  through  the  side  window  there  before  en- 
tering." 

"If  it  amused  you  to  do  so,  or  to  set  your  servant  to 
spy  upon  me,"  he  said,  "I  see  no  reason  to  object.  But 
your  meaning  is  still  unexplained." 

"The  onus  of  explanation,"  I  declared,  "appears  to 
me  to  rest  with  you.  Prince.  I  offered  the  hospitality  of 
my  room,  presumably  to  a  gentleman — not  to  a  person 


no  THE    BETRAYAL 

who  would  seize  that  opportunity  to  examine  my  private 
papers." 

"You  speak  with  assurance,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

*'The  assurance  of  knowledge,"  I  answered.  "I  saw 
you  at  my  desk  from  outside." 

"You  should  consult  an  oculist,"  he  declared.  "I  have 
not  left  this  chair.    My  foot  is  still  too  painful." 

"You  lie  well,  Prince,"  I  answered,  "but  not  well 
enough." 

He  looked  at  me  thoughtfully. 

*'I  am  endeavouring,"  he  said,  "to  accommodate  my- 
self to  the  customs  of  this  wonderful  country  of  yours. 
In  France  one  sends  one's  seconds.  What  do  you  do 
here  to  a  man  who  calls  you  a  liar.''" 

"We  treat  him,"  I  answered  hotly,  "as  the  man  de- 
serves to  be  treated  who  abuses  the  hospitality  of  a 
stranger,  and  places  himself  in  the  position  of  a  com- 
mon thief." 

The  Prince  shrugged  his  shoulders  lightly,  and 
helped  himself  to  one  of  my  cigarettes. 

"You  are  very  young,  Mr,  Ducaine,"  he  said,  looking 
at  me  thoughtfully.  "You  have  no  doubt  your  career 
to  make  in  the  world.  So,  in  a  greater  sense  of  the  word, 
have  I.  I  propose,  if  you  will  allow  me,  to  be  quite 
frank  with  you." 

"I  have  no  wish  for  your  confidences.  Prince,"  I  an- 
swered. "They  cannot  possibly  concern  or  interest  me." 

"Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,"  he  said.  "Like  all  young 
men  of  your  age,  you  jump  too  readily  at  conclusions. 
It  is  very  possible  that  you  and  I  may  be  of  service  to 
one  another,  and  I  may  add  that  those  who  have  been  of^ 


A    BRIBE  111 

service  to  the  Prince  of  Malors  have  seldom  had  cause  to 
regret  it.** 

*'This  conversation,"  I  interposed,  "seems  to  me  to  be 
beside  the  point.  I  have  no  desire  to  be  of  service  to  you. 
My  inchnations  are  rather  the  other  way." 

"The  matter  may  become  more  clear  to  you  if  you  will 
only  curb  your  impatience,  my  young  friend,'*  the 
Prince  said.  "It  is  only  my  ambition  to  serve  my 
country,  to  command  the  gratitude  of  a  nation  which 
to-day  regards  both  me  and  mine  with  mingled  doubt 
and  suspicion.  I  have  ambitions,  and  I  should  be  an 
easy  and  generous  master  to  serve," 

"I  am  honoured  with  your  confidence.  Prince,  but  I 
still  fail  to  see  how  these  matters  concern  me,"  I  said, 
setting  my  teeth  hard. 

"With  your  permission  I  will  make  it  quite  clear,*'  he 
continued.  "For  years  your  War  Office  has  suffered 
from  constant  dread  of  an  invasion  by  France.  The 
rumour  of  our  great  projected  manoeuvres  in  the  autumn 
have  inspired  your  statesmen  with  an  almost  paralysing 
fear.  They  see  in  these  merely  an  excuse  for  mar- 
shalling and  equipping  an  irresistible  army  within 
striking  distance  of  your  Empire.  Personally  I  believe 
that  they  are  entirely  mistaken  in  their  estimate  of  ray 
country's  intentions.  That,  however,  is  beside  the 
mark.    You  follow  me.?" 

"Perfectly,**  I  assured  him.  "This  is  most  interest- 
ing, although  as  yet  it  seems  to  me  equally  irrelevant." 

"Your  War  Office,'*  the  Prince  continued,  "has  es- 
tablished a  Secret  Council  of  Defence,  whose  only  task 
it  is  to  plan  the  successful  resistance  to  that  invasion,  if 


lia  THE    BETRAYAL 

ever  it  should  take  place.  You,  Mr.  Ducaine,  are,  I  be- 
lieve, practically  the  secretary  of  that  Council.  You 
have  to  elaborate  the  digests  of  the  meetings,  to  file 
schemes  for  the  establishment  of  fortifications  and 
camps;  in  a  word,  the  result  of  these  meetings  passes 
through  your  hands.  I  will  not  beat  about  the  bush,  Mr. 
Ducaine.  You  can  see  that  you  have  something  in  your 
keeping  which,  if  passed  on  to  me,  would  accomplish  my 
whole  aim.  The  army  would  be  forced  to  acknowledge 
my  claim  upon  them ;  the  nation  would  hear  of  it." 

"Well,"  I  asked,  "supposing  all  you  say  is  true? 
What  then.?" 

"You  are  a  little  obtuse,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  the  Prince 
said  softly.  "If  twenty  thousand  pounds  would  quicken 
your  understanding " 

I  picked  up  a  small  inkpot  from  the  side  of  the  tabled 
and  hurled  it  at  him.  He  sprang  aside,  but  it  caughl 
the  corner  of  his  forehead,  and  he  gave  a  shrill  cry  of 
pain.  He  struck  a  fierce  blow  at  me,  which  I  parried, 
and  a  moment  later  we  were  locked  in  one  another's  arms. 
I  think  that  we  must  have  been  of  equal  strength,  for  we 
swayed  up  and  down  the  room,  neither  gaining  the  ad- 
vantage, till  I  felt  my  breath  come  short  and  my  head 
dizzy.  Nevertheless,  I  was  slowly  gaining  the  mastery. 
My  grasp  upon  his  throat  was  tightening.  I  had  hold 
of  his  collar  and  tie,  and  I  could  have  strangled  him 
with  a  turn  of  my  wrist.  Just  then  the  door  opened. 
There  was  a  quick  exclamation  of  horrified  surprise  in  a 
familiar  tone.  I  threw  him  from  me  to  the  ground, 
and  turned  my  head.  It  was  Lady  Angela  who  stood 
upon  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER     XIV 
A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY 

LADY  ANGELA  looked  at   us   both  in  cold 
surprise. 
"Mr.  Ducaine !    Prince !"  she  exclaimed. 
"What  is  the  meaning   of  this   extraordi- 
nary exhibition  ?" 

The  Prince,  whose  sang-froid  was  marvellous,  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  began  to  wipe  his  forehead  with  a  spotless 
cambric  handkerchief. 

"My  dear  Lady  Angela,"  he  said,  "I  am  most  dis- 
tressed that  you  should  have  been  a  witness  of  this — 
extraordinary  incident.  I  have  been  trying  to  adapt 
myself  to  the  methods  of  your  country,  but,  alas !  I  can- 
not say  that  I  am  enamoured  of  them.  Here,  it  seems, 
that  gentlemen  who  differ  must  behave  like  dustmen. 
Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  turn  my  back  to  you  for  a 
moment  ?  I  see  a  small  mirror,  and  I  am  convinced  that 
my  tie  and  collar  need  readjustment." 

"But  why  quarrel  at  all.'*"  she  exclaimed.  "Mr. 
Ducaine,"  she  added,  turning  coolly  to  me,  "I  trust  you 
have  remembered  that  the  Prince  is  my  father's  guest." 

I  was  speechless,  but  the  Prince  himself  intervened. 


114  THE    BETRAYAL 

"The  blame,  if  any,"  he  declared,  "was  mine.  Mr. 
Ducaine  appeared  to  misunderstand  me  from  the  first. 
I  believe  that  his  little  ebullition  arose  altogether  from 
too  great  zeal  on  behalf  of  his  employers.  I  congratu- 
late him  upon  it,  while  I  am  bound  to  deprecate  his  ex- 
treme measures." 

*'And  you,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  asked,  turning 
towards  me,  "what  have  you  to  say?" 

"Nothing,"  I  declared,  stung  by  her  tone  and  man- 
ner as  much  as  by  his  coolness,  "except  that  I  found  the 
Prince  of  Malors  meddling  with  my  private  papers,  and 
subsequently  I  interrupted  him  in  the  offer  of  a  bribe." 

The  Prince  smoothed  his  necktie,  which  he  had  really 
tied  very  well,  complacently. 

"The  personal  belongings  of  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said 
calmly,  "are  without  interest  to  me.  I  fancy  that  the 
Prince  of  Malors  can  ignore  any  suggestions  to  the 
contrary.  As  for  the  bribe,  Mr.  Ducaine  talks  folly. 
I  am  not  aware  that  he  has  an3rthing  to  sell,  and  I  de- 
cline to  believe  him  a  blackmailer.  I  prefer  to  look 
upon  him  as  a  singularly  hot-headed  and  not  over-intel- 
ligent person,  who  takes  very  long  jumps  at  conclu- 
sions. Lady  Angela,  I  find  my  foot  much  better.  May 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  escorting  you  to  the  house  ?" 

I  held  ray  tongue,  knowing  very  well  that  the  Prince 
played  his  part  solely  that  I  might  be  entrapped  into 
speech.  But  Lady  Angela  seemed  puzzled  at  my 
silence.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  inquiringly 
out  of  her  soft  dark  eyes.  I  made  no  sign.  She  turned 
away  to  the  Prince. 

"If  you  are  sure  that  you  can  walk  without  pain," 


A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY         115 

she  said.  "We  will  not  trouble  you,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she 
added,  as  I  moved  to  open  the  door. 

So  they  left  me  alone,  and  I  was  not  sure  whether  the 
honours  remained  with  him  or  with  me.  He  had  never 
for  a  moment  lost  his  dignity,  nor  had  he  even  looked 
ridiculous  when  calmly  rearranging  his  tie  and  collar. 
I  laughed  to  myself  bitterly  as  I  prepared  to  follow 
them.  I  was  determined  to  lay  the  whole  matter  before 
the  Duke  at  once. 

As  I  reached  the  terrace  I  saw  a  man  walking  up  and 
down,  smoking  a  pipe.  He  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps 
and  waited  for  me.  It  was  Colonel  Ray.  He  took  me 
by  the  arm. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you,  Ducaine,"  he  said.  "I 
was*  afraid  that  I  might  miss  you,  or  I  should  have 
come  down." 

"I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Duke,"  I  said,  "and  my 
business  is  urgent." 

"So  is  mine,"  he  said  grimly.  "I  want  to  know  ex- 
actly what  has  passed  between  you  and  the  Prince  of 
Malors." 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure.  Colonel  Ray,"  I  answered, 
**that  I  am  at  liberty  to  tell  you.  At  any  rate,  I  think 
that  I  ought  to  see  the  Duke  first." 

His  face  darkened,  his  eyes  seemed  to  flash  threaten- 
ing fires  upon  me.  He  was  smoking  so  furiously  that 
little  hot  shreds  of  tobacco  fell  from  his  pipe. 

"Boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "there  are  limits  even  to  my 
forbearance.  You  are  where  you  are  at  my  suggestion, 
and  I  could  as  easily  send  you  adrift.  I  do  not  say 
this  as  a  threat,  but  I  desire  to  be  treated  with  common 


116  THE    BETRAYAL 

consideration.  I  appeal  to  your  reason.  Is  it  well  to 
treat  me  like  an  enemy .?" 

"Whether  you  are  indeed  my  friend  or  my  enemy  I 
am  not  even  now  sure,"  I  answered.  "I  am  learning  to 
be  suspicious  of  every  person  and  thing  which  breathes. 
But  as  for  this  matter  between  the  Prince  and  myself, 
it  can  make  little  difference  who  knows  the  truth.  He 
shammed  a  fall  over  the  cliff  and  a  sprained  ankle. 
Lady  Angela  and  I  started  for  the  house  to  send  a  cart 
for  him,  but,  before  we  were  halfway  across  the  Park, 
Grooton  fetched  me  back.  I  found  the  Prince  examin- 
ing the  papers  on  which  I  had  been  working,  and  when 
I  charged  him  with  it  he  offered  me  a  bribe." 

"And  you?" 

"I  struck  him  I" 

Ray  groaned. 

"You  struck  him !  And  you  had  him  in  your  power 
— ^to  play  with  as  you  would.  And  you  struck  him! 
Oh,  Ducaine,  you  are  very,  very  young.  I  am  your 
friend,  boy,  or  rather  I  would  be  if  you  would  let  me. 
But  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  a  blunderer." 

I  faced  him  with  white  face. 

**I  seem  to  have  found  my  way  into  a  strange  place," 
I  answered.  "I  have  neither  wit  nor  cunning  enough 
to  know  true  men  from  false.  I  would  trust  you,  but 
you  are  a  murderer.  I  would  have  trusted  the  Prince 
of  Malors,  but  he  has  proved  himself  a  common  adven- 
turer. So  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  all  shall  be 
alike.  I  will  be  neither  friend  nor  foe  to  any  mortal, 
but  true  to  my  country.  I  go  my  way  and  do  my  duty. 
Colonel  Ray." 


A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY         117 

He  blew  out  dense  volumes  of  smoke,  puffing  furi- 
ously at  his  pipe  for  several  minutes.  There  seemed  to 
be  many  things  which  he  had  it  in  his  mind  to  say  to  me. 
But,  as  though  suddenly  altering  his  purpose,  he  stood 
on  one  side. 

"You  shall  go  your  own  way,"  he  said  grimly.  "The 
Lord  only  knows  where  it  will  take  you." 

It  took  me  in  the  first  place  to  the  Duke,  to  whom  I 
recounted  briefly  what  had  happened.  I  could  see  that 
my  story  at  once  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him. 
When  I  had  finished  he  sat  for  several  minutes  deep  in 
thought.  For  the  first  time  since  I  had  known  him  he 
seemed  nervous  and  ill  at  ease.  He  was  unusually  pale, 
and  there  were  deep  lines  engraven  about  his  mouth. 
One  hand  was  resting  upon  the  table,  and  I  fancied 
that  his  fingers  were  shaking. 

"The  Prince  of  Malors,"  he  said  at  last,  and  his  voice 
lacked  altogether  its  usual  ring  of  cool  assurance,  "is  of 
Royal  blood.  He  is  not  even  in  touch  with  the  pohtical 
powers  of  France  to-day.  He  may  have  been  guilty 
of  a  moment's  idle  curiosity ^" 

"Your  Grace  must  forgive  me,"  I  interrupted,  "but 
you  are  overlooking  facts.  The  fall  over  the  cliff  was 
premeditated,  the  sprained  foot  was  a  sham,  the  whole 
aff^air  was  clearly  planned  in  order  that  he  might  be  left 
alone  in  my  room.     Besides,  there  is  the  bribe." 

The  Duke  folded  his  hands  nervously  together.  He 
looked  away  from  me  into  the  fire. 

"It  is  a  very  difficult  position,"  he  declared,  "very 
difficult  indeed.  The  Prince  has  been  more  than  a  friend 
to  Blenavon.    He  has  been  his  benefactor.    Of  course  he 


118  THE    BETRAYAL 

will  deny  this  thing  with  contempt.  Let  me  think  it  out, 
Ducaine." 

"By  all  means,  your  Grace,"  I  answered,  a  little  net- 
tled at  his  undecided  air.  "So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
my  duty  in  the  matter  ends  here.  I  have  told  you  the 
exact  truth  concerning  it,  and  it  seems  to  me  by  no 
means  improbable  that  the  Prince  has  been  in  some  way 
responsible  for  those  former  leakages." 

The  Duke  shook  his  head  slowly. 

**It  is  impossible,"  he  said. 

**Your  Grace  is  the  best  judge,"  I  answered. 

**The  Prince  was  not  in  the  house  last  night  when  the 
safe  was  opened,  he  objected. 

"He  probably  has  accomplices,"  I  answered.  "Be- 
sides, how  do  we  know  that  he  was  not  here?" 

"Even  if  he  were,"  the  Duke  said,  raising  his  head, 
"how  could  he  have  known  the  cipher.?" 

I  made  no  answer  at  all.  It  seemed  useless  to  argue 
with  a  man  who  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind  not  to 
be  convinced. 

"Have  you  mentioned  this  matter  to  any  one?"  the 
Duke  asked. 

"To  Colonel  Ray  only,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

"Ray !"  The  Duke  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  was 
looking  steadily  into  the  fire.  "You  told  Ray  what  you 
have  told  me?" 

"In  substance,  yes,  your  Grace.  In  detail,  perhaps 
not  so  fully." 

"And  he?" 

"He  did  not  doubt  my  story,  your  Grace,"  I  said 
quietly. 


A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY         119 

The  Duke  frowned  across  at  me. 

"Neither  do  I,  Ducaine,"  he  declared.  "It  is  not  a 
question  of  veracity  at  all.  It  is  a  question  of  construc- 
tion. You  are  young,  and  these  things  are  all  new  to 
you.  The  Prince  might  have  been  trying  you,  or  some- 
thing which  you  did  not  hear  or  have  forgotten  might 
throw  a  diflPerent  light  upon  his  actions  and  suggestion. 
I  beg  that  you  will  leave  the  matter  entirely  in  my 
hands." 

I  abandoned  the  subject  then  and  there.  But  as  I 
left  the  room  I  came  face  to  face  with  Blenavon,  who 
was  loitering  outside.  He  at  once  detained  me.  His 
manner  since  the  morning  had  altered.  He  addressed 
me  now  with  hesitation,  almost  with  respect. 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Ducaine?"  he 
asked.    "I  will  not  detain  you  long." 

'*I  am  at  your  service.  Lord  Blenavon,"  I  answered. 

"We  win  go  into  the  hall  and  have  a  smoke,"  he  sug- 
gested, leading  the  way.  "To  me  it  seems  the  only 
place  in  the  house  free  from  draughts." 

I  followed  him  to  where,  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
great  dome-shaped  hall,  a  wide  cushioned  lounge  was 
set  against  the  wall.  He  seated  himself  and  motioned 
me  to  follow  his  example.  For  several  moments  he  re- 
mained silent,  twisting  a  cigarette  with  thin  nervous 
fingers  stained  yellow  with  nicotine.  Every  now  and 
then  he  glanced  furtively  around.  I  waited  for  him 
to  speak.  He  was  Lady  Angela's  brother,  but  I  dis- 
liked and  distrusted  him. 

He  finally  got  his  cigarette  alight,  and  turned  to  me. 

*'Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  apologize 


120  THE    BETRAYAL 

to  my  friend,  the  Prince  of  Malors,  for  your  behavioui 
this  afternoon." 

"Apologize  to  the  Prince!"  I  exclaimed.  "Why 
should  I?" 

"Because  this  is  the  only  condition  on  which  he  will 
consent  to  remain  here." 

"I  should  have  thought,"  I  said,  "that  his  immediate 
departure  was  inevitable.  I  detected  him  in  be- 
haviour  " 

"That  is  just  where  you  are  wrong,"  Blenavon  inter- 
rupted eagerly.  ^TTou  were  mistaken,  entirely  mis- 
taken." 

I  laughed,  a  little  impolitely,  I  am  afraid,  consider- 
ing that  this  was  the  son  of  my  employer. 

"You  know  the  circumstances.?"  I  asked. 

He  nodded. 

"The  Prince  has  explained  them  to  me.  It  was  alto- 
gether a  misunderstanding.  He  felt  his  foot  a  little 
easier,  and  he  was  simply  looking  for  a  newspaper  or 
something  to  read  until  you  returned.  Inadvertently  he 
turned  over  some  of  your  manuscript,  and  at  that 
moment  you  entered." 

"Most  inopportunely,  I  am  afraid,"  I  answered,  with 
an  unwilling  smile.  *'I  am  sorry.  Lord  Blenavon,  that 
I  cannot  accept  this  explanation  of  the  Prince's 
behaviour.  I  am  compelled  to  take  the  evidence  of  my 
eyes  and  ears  as  final." 

Blenavon  sucked  at  his  cigarette  fiercely  for  a  min- 
ute, threw  it  away,  and  commenced  to  roll  another. 

"It's  all  rot !"  he  exclaimed.  "Malors  wouldn't  do  a 
mean  action,  and,  besides,  what  on  earth  has  he  to  gain  ? 


A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY         121 

He  is  a  fanatical  Royalist.  He  is  not  even  on  speaking 
terms  with  the  Government  of  France  to-day." 

**I  perceive,"  I  remarked,  looking  at  him  closely, 
*'that  you  are  familiar  with  the  nature  of  my  secretarial 
work." 

He  returned  my  glance,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
there  was  some  hidden  meaning  in  his  eyes  which  I 
failed  to  catch. 

"I  am  in  my  father's  confidence,"  he  said  slowly. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  I  was  listening  to  a 
distant  voice  in  the  lower  part  of  the  hall. 

"Am  I  to  take  it,  Mr.  Ducaine,  then,"  he  said  at 
last,  "that  you  decline  to  apologize  to  the  Prince?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  apologize  for,"  I  answered 
calmly.  "The  Prince  was  attempting  to  obtain  infor- 
mation in  an  illicit  manner  by  the  perusal  of  papers 
which  were  in  my  charge." 

Blenavon  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  opposite  comer  of  the  hall.  Lady  Angela, 
who  had  just  descended  the  stairs,  was  standing  there, 
pale  and  unsubstantial  as  a  shadow,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  her  eyes,  as  she  looked  across  at  me,  were  full  of 
trouble.  She  came  slowly  towards  us.  Blenavon  laid 
his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Angela,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Ducaine  will  not  accept  my 
word.  I  can  make  no  impression  upon  him.  Perhaps 
he  will  the  more  readily  believe  yours." 

"Lady  Angela  will  not  ask  me  to  disbelieve  the  evi- 
dence of  my  own  senses,"  I  said  confidently. 

She  stood  between  us.  I  was  aware  from  the  first  of 
something    unfamiliar    in  her    manner,  something    of 


122  THE    BETRAYAL 

which  a  glimmering  had  appeared  on  our  way  home 
through  the  wood. 

"It  is  about  Malors,  Angela,"  he  continued.  "You 
were  there.  You  know  all  that  happened.  Malors  is 
very  reasonable  about  it.  He  admits  that  his  actions 
may  have  seemed  suspicious.  He  will  accept  an  apol- 
ogy from  Mr.  Ducaine,  and  remain." 

She  turned  to  me. 

"And  you .?"  she  asked. 

"The  idea  of  an  apology,"  I  answered,  "appears  to 
me  ridiculous.  My  own  poor  little  possessions  were 
wholly  at  his  disposal.  I  caught  him,  however,  in  the 
act  of  meddling  with  papers  which  are  mine  only  on 
trust." 

Lady  Angela  played  for  a  moment  with  the  dainty 
trifles  which  hung  from  her  bracelet.  When  she  spoke 
she  did  not  look  at  me. 

"The  Prince's  explanation,"  she  said,  "is  plausible, 
and  he  is  our  guest.  I  think  perhaps  it  would  be  wisest 
to  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

"Doubt!"  I  exclaimed,  bewildered.  "There  is  no 
room  for  doubt  in  the  matter." 

Then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  mine,  and  I  saw  there  new 
things.  I  saw  trouble  and  appeal,  and  behind  both  the 
shadow  of  mystery. 

*'Have  you  spoken  to  my  father.?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Did  he  accept — your  view  ?" 

"He  did  not,"  I  answered  bitterly.  "I  could  not  con- 
vince him  of  what  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes.'* 

"You  have  done  your  duty,  then,"  she  said  softly. 


A    RELUCTANT    APOLOGY         123 

**Why  not  let  the  rest  go?  As  you  told  us  just  now, 
this  is  not  a  personal  matter,  and  there  are  reasons  why 
he  did  not  wish  the  Prince  to  leave  suddenly." 

I  was  staggered.  I  held  my  peace,  and  the  two  stood 
watching  me.  Then  I  heard  footsteps  approaching  us, 
and  a  familiar  voice. 

*'What  trio  of  conspirators  is  this  talking  so  ear- 
nestly in  the  shadows?     Ah!" 

The  Prince  had  seen  me,  and  he  stood  still.  I  faced 
him  at  once. 

"Prince,"  I  said,  "it  has  been  suggested  to  me  that 
my  eyesight  is  probably  defective.  It  is  possible  in  that 
case  that  I  have  not  seen  you  before  to-day,  that  the 
things  with  which  I  charge  you  are  false,  that  in  all 
probability  you  were  in  some  other  place  altogether. 
If  this  is  so,  I  apologize  for  my  remarks  and  behaviour 
towards  you." 

He  bowed  with  a  faint  mirthless  smile. 

"It  is  finished,  my  young  friend,"  he  declared.  "I 
wipe  it  from  my  memory." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  hear  Blenavon's  sigh  of 
relief,  that  the  shadow  had  fallen  from  Lady  Angela's 
face.  There  was  a  little  murmur  of  satisfaction  from 
both  of  them.  But  I  turned  abruptly,  and  with  scarcely 
even  an  attempt  at  a  conventional  farewell  I  left  the 
house,  and  walked  homewards  across  the  Park. 


CHAPTER  XV 
TWO    FAIR    CALLERS 

AFTER  three  days  the  house  party  at  Row' 
Chester  was  somewhat  unexpectedly  broken 
up.  Lord  Chelsford  departed  early  one 
morning  by  special  train,  and  the  Duke 
himself  and  the  remainder  of  his  guests  left  for  London 
later  on  in  the  day.  I  remained  behind  with  three  weeks' 
work,  and  a  fear  which  never  left  me  by  day  or  by 
night.  Yet  the  relief  of  solitude  after  the  mysteries  of 
the  last  few  days  was  in  itself  a  thing  to  be  thankful 
for. 

For  nine  days  I  spoke  with  no  one  save  Grooton. 
For  an  hour  every  afternoon,  and  for  rather  longer  at 
night,  I  walked  on  the  cliffs  or  the  sands.  Here  on  these 
lonely  stretches  of  empty  land  I  met  no  one,  saw  no 
living  thing  save  the  seagulls.  It  was  almost  like  a 
corner  of  some  forgotten  land.  These  walks,  and  an 
occasional  few  hours'  reading,  were  my  sole  recreation. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  I  saw  a  shadow 
pass  my  window,  and  immediately  afterwards  there  was 
a  timid  knock  at  the  door.  Grooton  had  gone  on  his 
daily  pilgrimage  with  letters  to  the  village,  so  I  was 


TWO    FAIR    CALLERS  126 

obliged  to  open  it  myself.  To  my  surprise  it  was 
Blanche  Moyat  who  stood  upon  the  threshold.  She 
laughed  a  little  nervously. 

"I'm  no  ghost,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "and  I  shan't 
bite!" 

"Forgive  me,"  I  answered.  "I  was  hard  at  work  and 
your  krtock  startled  me.    Please  come  in." 

I  ushered  her  into  my  sitting-room.  She  was  wearing 
what  I  recognized  as  her  best  clothes,  and  not  being  en- 
tirely at  her  ease  she  talked  loudly  and  rapidly. 

"Such  a  stranger  as  you  are,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Fancy,  it's  getting  on  for  a  month  since  we 
any  of  us  saw  a  sign  of  you,  and  I'm  sure  never  a  week 
used  to  pass  but  father'd  be  looking  for  you  to  drop  in. 
We  heard  that  you  were  living  here  all  by  yourself,  and 
this  morning  mother  said,  perhaps  he's  ill.  We  tried 
to  get  father  to  come  up  and  see,  but  he's  off  to  Down- 
ham  market  to-day,  and  goodness  knows  when  he'd  find 
time  if  we  left  it  to  him.  So  I  thought  I'd  come  and 
find  out  for  myself." 

"I  am  quite  well,  thanks,  Miss  Moyat,"  I  answered, 
"but  very  busy.  The  Duke  has  been  giving  me  some 
work  to  do,  and  he  has  lent  me  this  cottage,  so  that  I 
shall  be  close  at  hand.  I  should  have  looked  you  up 
the  first  time  I  came  to  Braster,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  have  not  been  there  since  the  night  of  my  lecture." 

She  was  nervously  playing  with  the  fastening  of  her 
umbrella,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  her  silence  was  pur- 
poseful. I  ventured  some  remark  about  the  weather, 
which  she  interrupted  ruthlessly.* 

"It's  a  mile  and  a  half  to  our  house  from  here,"  she 


126  THE    BETRAYAL 

said,  "not  a  step  farther.  I  don't  see  why  you 
shouldn't  have  made  a  purpose  journey." 

I  ignored  the  reproach  in  her  eyes,  as  I  had  every 
right  to  do.  But  I  began  to  understand  the  reason  of 
her  nervousness  and  her  best  clothes,  and  I  prayed  for 
Grooton's  return. 

"If  I  had  had  an  evening  to  myself,"  I  said,  "I 
should  certainly  have  paid  your  father  a  visit.  But  as 
it  happens,  the  Duke  has  required  me  at  the  house  every 
night  while  he  was  here,  and  he  has  left  me  enough 
work  to  do  to  keep  me  busy  night  and  day  till  he  comes 
back." 

She  looked  down  upon  the  floor. 

"I  had  to  come  and  see  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 
''Sometimes  I  can't  sleep  for  thinking  of  it.  I  feel  that 
I  haven't  done  right." 

I  knew,  of  course,  what  she  meant. 

"I  thought  we  had  talked  all  that  out  long  ago,"  I 
answered,  a  little  wearily.  "You  would  have  been  very 
foolish  if  you  had  acted  differently.  I  don't  see  how 
else  you  could  have  acted." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "We  were  always 
brought  up  very  particular — especially  about  telling 
the  truth." 

"Well,  you  haven't  said  anything  that  wasn't  the 
truth,"  I  reminded  her. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  said  what  I  ought  to 
say,"  she  declared.  "It  seems  all  right  when  you  are 
with  me,  and  talk  about  it,"  she  continued  slowly,  rais- 
ing her  eyes  to  mine.  "It's  when  I  don't  see  you  for 
weeks  and  weeks  that  it  seems  to  get  on  my  mind,  and  I 


TWO    FAIR    CALLERS  127 

get  afraid.  I  don't  understand  it,  I  don't  understand  it 
even  now." 

"Don't  understand  what.'"'    I  repeated. 

She  looked  around.  Her  air  of  troubled  mystery  was 
only  half  assumed. 

"How  that  man  died !"  she  whispered. 

"I  can  assure  you  that  I  did  not  kill  him,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,"  I  told  her  coolly.  "The  matter  is  over 
and  done  with.  I  think  that  you  are  very  foolish  to 
give  it  another  thought.'* 

She  shuddered. 

"Men  can  forget  those  things  easier,"  she  said. 
**Perhaps  he  had  a  wife  and  children.  Perhaps  they 
are  wondering  all  this  time  what  has  become  of 
him." 

"People  die  away  from  their  homes  and  families 
every  day,  every  hour,"  I  answered.  "It  is  only  mor- 
bid to  brood  over  one  particular  example." 

"Father  would  never  forgive  me  if  he  knew,"  she 
murmured,  irrelevantly.  "He  hates  us  to  do  anything 
underhand." 

I  heard  Grooton  return  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"You  will  have  some  tea,"  I  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head  and  stood  up.  I  did  not  press 
her. 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  said.  "I  am  sorry  I  came.  I 
don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Ducaine.  You  seem  to  have 
changed  altogether  just  these  last  few  weeks.  I  can 
see  that  you  are  dying  to  get  rid  of  me  now,  but  you 
were  glad  enough  to  see  me,  or  at  any  rate  you  pre- 
tended to  be,  once." 


128  THE    BETRAYAL 

My  breath  was  a  little  taken  away.  I  looked  at 
her  in  surprise.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  voice 
had  shaken  with  something  more  like  anger  than  any 
form  of  pathos.  I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer  her, 
and  while  I  hesitated  the  interruption  which  I  had  been 
praying  for  came,  though  from  a  strange  quarter.  My 
door  was  pushed  a  few  inches  open,  and  I  heard  Lady 
Angela's  clear  young  voice. 

"Are  you  there,  Mr.  Ducaine?    May  I  come  in?" 

Before  I  could  answer  she  stood  upon  the  threshold. 
I  saw  the  delightful  little  smile  fade  from  her  lips  as  she 
looked  in.  She  hesitated,  and  seemed  for  a  moment 
about  to  retreat. 

"please  come  in.  Lady  Angela,"  I  begged,  eagerly. 

She  came  slowly  forward. 

"I  must  apologize  for  my  abominable  country  man- 
ners," she  said,  resting  the  tips  of  her  fingers  for  a 
moment  in  mine.  "I  saw  your  door  was  not  latched,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  me  to  knock." 

"It  was  not  necessary,"  I  assured  her.  "A  front  door 
which  does  not  boast  a  knocker  or  a  bell  must  expect 
to  be  taken  liberties  with.  But  it  is  a  great  surprise  to 
see  you  here.  I  had  no  idea  that  any  one  was  at  Row- 
chester,  or  expected  there,  except  Lord  Blenavon.  Has 
the  Duke  returned?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  came  down  alone,"  she  answered.  "I  found  Lon- 
don dull.  Let  me  see,  I  am  sure  that  I  know  your  face, 
do  I  not?"  she  added,  turning  to  Blanche  Moyat  with 
a  smile.    "You  live  in  Braster,  surely  ?" 

'*I  am  Miss  Moyat,"  Blanche  answered  quietly. 


TWO    FAIR    CALLERS  129 

**0f  course.  Dear  me!  I  ought  to  have  recognized 
you.  We  have  been  neighbours  for  a  good  many 
years." 

**I  will  wish  you  good-aftemoon,  Mr.  Ducaine," 
Blanche  said,  turning  to  me.  "Good-aftemoon — your 
Ladyship,"  she  added  a  little  awkwardly. 

I  opened  the  door  for  her. 

**I  will  come  down  and  see  your  father  the  first  even- 
ing I  have  to  spare,"  I  said.  "I  hope  you  will  tell  him 
from  me  that  I  should  have  been  before,  but  for  the 
luxury  of  having  some  work  to  do." 

*'I  will  tell  him,"  she  said  almost  inaudibly. 

**And  thank  you  very  much  for  coming  to  inquire 
after  me,"  I  added.    "Good-afternoon." 

"Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

I  closed  the  door.  Lady  Angela  was  lounging  in  ray 
easy  chair  with  a  slight  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"Two  lady  callers  in  one  afternoon,  Mr.  Ducaine," 
she  remarked  quietly.  "You  will  lose  your  head,  I  am 
afraid." 

"I  can  assure  you.  Lady  Angela,"  I  answered,  "that 
there  is  not  the  slightest  fear  of  such  a  catastrophe." 

She  sat  looking  meditatively  into  the  fire,  swinging 
her  dogskin  gloves  in  her  hands.  She  wore  a  plain 
pearl  grey  walking  dress  and  deerstalker  hat  with  a 
single  quill  in  it.  The  severe  but  immaculate  simplicity 
of  her  toilette  might  have  been  designed  to  accentuate 
the  barbarities  of  Blanche  Moyat's  cheap  finery. 

*'I  understood  that  you  would  be  in  town  for  at  least 
three  weeks,"  I  remarked.  "I  trust  that  his  Grace  is 
well.?' 


130  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  trust  that  he  is,"  she  answered.  "I  see  nothing 
of  him  in  London.  He  has  company  meetings  and 
political  work  every  moment  of  his  time.  I  do  not 
believe  that  there  is  any  one  who  works  harder." 

"He  has,  at  least,"  I  remarked,  "the  compensation  of 
success." 

"You  are  wondering,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  me  quickly,  "what  has  brought  me  back  again  so 
soon." 

"I  certainly  did  not  expect  you,"  I  admitted. 

She  rose  abruptly. 

"Come  outside,"  she  said,  "and  I  will  show  you. 
Bring  your  hat." 

We  passed  into  the  March  twilight.  She  led  the  way 
down  the  cliff  and  towards  the  great  silent  stretch  of 
salt  marshes.  An  evening  wind,  sharp  with  brine,  was 
blowing  in  from  the  ocean,  stirring  the  surface  of  the 
long  creeks  into  silent  ripples,  and  bending  landwards 
the  thin  streaks  of  white  smoke  rising  amongst  the  red- 
tiled  roofs  of  the  village.  I  felt  the  delicate  sting  of  it 
upon  my  cheeks.  Lady  Angela  half  closed  her  eyes  as 
she  turned  her  face  seawards. 

"I  came  for  this,"  she  murmured.  "There  is  nothing 
like  it  anywhere  else." 

We  stood  there  in  silence  for  several  long  minutes. 
Then  she  turned  to  me  with  a  little  sigh. 

"I  am  content,"  she  said.  "Will  you  come  up  and 
dine  with  us  to-night?  Blenavon  will  be  there,  you 
know." 

I  hesitated. 

'*I  am  afraid  it  is  rather  a  bother  to  you  to  leave  your 


TWO    FAIR    CALLERS  ISl 

work,'*  she  continued,  "but  I  am  not  offering  you  idle 
hospitality.     I  really  want  you  to  come.*' 

"In  that  case,"  I  answered,  "of  course  I  shall  be 
delighted." 

She  pointed  to  Braster  Grange  away  on  the  other 
side  of  the  village.  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  it 
was  all  lit  up. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  our  new  neighbours.''" 
she  asked. 

"Only  their  names,"  I  answered.  "I  did  not  even 
know  that  they  had  arrived." 

"There  is  only  a  woman,  I  believe,"  she  said.  "I 
have  met  her  abroad,  and  I  dislike  her — greatly.  I  hear 
that  my  brother  spends  most  of  his  time  with  her,  and 
that  he  has  dined  there  the  last  three  nights.  It  is  not 
safe  or  wise  of  him,  for  many  reasons.  I  want  to  stop 
it.    That  is  why  I  have  asked  you  to  come  to  us.*' 

"It  is  quite  sufficient,"  I  told  her.  "If  you  want  me 
for  any  reason  I  will  come.  I  am  two  days  ahead  of  my 
work." 

We  threaded  our  way  amongst  the  creeks.  All  the 
time  the  salt  wind  blew  upon  us,  and  the  smell  of  fresh 
seaweed  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  ozone.  Just  as  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  road  we  heard  the  thunder  of 
hoofs  behind.  We  turned  around.  It  was  Blenavon, 
riding  side  by  side  with  a  lady  who  was  a  stranger  to 
me.  Her  figure  was  slim  but  elegant.  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  face  as  they  flashed  by,  and  it  puzzled 
me.  Her  hair  was  almost  straw  coloured,  her  complex- 
ion was  negative,  her  features  were  certainly  not  good. 
Yet  there  was  something  about  her  attractive,  some- 


THE    BHITRAYAL 

thing  which  set  me  guessing  at  once  as  to  the  colour  of 
her  eyes,  the  quality  of  her  voice,  if  she  should  speak. 
Blenavon  reined  in  his  horse. 

"So  you  have  turned  up,  Angela,"  he  remarked, 
looking  at  her  a  little  nervously.  "You  remember  Mrs. 
Smith-Lessing,  don't  you — down  at  Bordighera,  you 
know?" 

Angela  shook  her  head,  but  she  never  glanced 
towards  the  woman  who  sat  there  with  expectant 
smile. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  do  not,"  she  said.  "I  remember 
a  good  many  things  about  Bordighera,  but — not  Mrs. 
Smith-Lessing.  I  shall  see  you  at  dinner-time,  Blen- 
avon.   I  have  some  messages  for  you." 

I  saw  the  whip  come  down  upon  the  woman's  horse, 
but  I  did  not  dare  to  look  into  her  face.  Blenavon, 
with  a  smothered  oath  and  a  black  look  at  his  sister, 
galloped  after  her.  I  rejoined  Lady  Angela,  who  was 
already  in  the  road. 

"Dear  me,"  she  said,  "what  a  magnificent  nerve  that 
woman  must  have !  To  dare  to  imagine  that  I  should 
receive  her!  Why,  she  is  known  in  every  capital  in 
Europe — a  police  spy,  a  creature  whose  brains  and 
body  and  soul  are  to  be  bought  by  any  one's  gold." 

"What  on  earth  can  such  a  woman  want  here.'"'  I 
remarked. 

"In  hiding,  very  likely,"  Lady  Angela  remarked. 
*'0r  perhaps  she  may  be  an  additional  complication  for 
you." 

I  laughed  a  little  scornfully. 

**You,  too,  are  getting  suspicious,"  I  declared.  "The 


TWO    FAIR    CALLERS  133 

Prince  and  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  are  a  strong  combina- 
tion." 

"Be  careful  then  that  they  are  not  too  strong  for 
you,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "I  have  heard  a  fa- 
mous boast  of  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing's,  that  never  a  man 
nor  a  lock  has  yet  resisted  her." 

I  thought  of  her  face  as  I  had  seen  it  in  the  half 
light — a  faint  impression  of  delicate  colourlessness,  and 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help  a  little  shiver.  Lady 
Angela  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Are  you  cold?"  she  asked.  "Let  us  walk  more 
quickly." 

"It  is  always  cold  at  this  time  in  the  evening,"  I  re- 
marked. "It  is  the  mist  coming  up  from  the  marshes. 
One  feels  it  at  unexpected  moments." 

"I  am  not  going  to  take  you  any  farther,"  she  de- 
clared, "especially  as  you  are  coming  up  to-night. 
Eight  o'clock,  remember.  Go  and  salve  your  con- 
science with  some  work." 

I  protested,  but  she  was  firm.  So  I  stood  by  the 
gate  and  watched  her  slim  young  figure  disappear  in 
the  gathering  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
LADY    ANGELA'S    ENGAGEMENT 

I  DINED  that  night  at  Rowchester.  Lord  Blen- 
avon  was  sulky,  and  Lady  Angela  was  only  fit- 
fully gay.  It  was  not  altogether  a  cheerful 
party.  Lady  Angela  left  us  the  moment 
Blenavon  produced  his  cigarette-case. 

"Do  not  stay  too  long,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  as  I 
held  the  door  open  for  her.  "I  want  a  lesson  at  bil- 
liards." 

I  bowed  and  returned  to  my  seat.  Blenavon  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  smoking  thoughtfully. 

"My  sister,"  he  remarked,  looking  up  at  the  ceiling 
and  speaking  as  though  to  himself,  "would  make  an 
admirable  heroine  for  the  psychological  novelist.  She 
is  a  bundle  of  fancies;  one  can  never  rely  upon  what 
she  is  going  to  do.  What  other  girl  in  the  world  would 
get  engaged  on  the  Thursday,  and  come  down  here  on 
the  Friday  to  think  it  over — leaving,  of  course,  her 
fiance  in  town?     Doesn't  that  strike  you  as  singular.?" 

"Is  it,"  I  asked  calmly,  "a  genuine  case?" 

Lord  Blenavon  nodded. 

**I  do  not  think  that  it  is  a  secret,"  he  said,  helping 


LADY   ANGELA'S   ENGAGEMENT    135 

himself  to  wine  and  passing  the  decanter.  "She  has 
made  up  her  mind  at  last  to  marry  Mostyn  Ray.  The 
affair  has  been  hanging  about  for  more  than  a  year. 
In  fact,  I  think  that  there  was  something  said  about  it 
before  Ray  went  abroad.  Personally,  I  think  that  he 
is  too  old.  I  don't  mind  saying  so  to  you,  because  that 
has  been  my  opinion  all  along.  However,  I  suppose 
it  is  all  settled  now." 

I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wineglass  in  front  of 
me,  but  the  things  which  I  saw,  no  four  walls  had  ever 
enclosed.  One  moment  the  rush  of  the  sea  was  in  my 
ears,  another  I  was  l^'ing  upon  the  little  horsehair  couch 
in  my  sitting-room.  I  felt  her  soft  white  fingers  upon 
my  pulse  and  forehead.  Again  I  saw  her  leaning  down 
from  the  saddle  of  her  great  brown  horse,  and  heard 
her  voice,  slow,  emotionless,  yet  always  with  its  strange 
power  to  play  upon  my  heartstrings.  And  yet,  while 
the  grey  seas  of  despair  were  closing  over  my  head,  I 
sat  there  with  a  stereotyped  smile  upon  my  lips,  finger- 
ing carelessly  the  stem  of  my  wineglass,  unwilling  guest 
of  an  unwilling  host.  I  do  not  know  how  long  we  sat 
there  in  silence,  but  it  seemed  to  me  an  eternity,  for  all 
the  time  I  knew  that  Blenavon  was  watching  me.  I 
felt  like  a  victim  upon  the  rack,  whilst  he,  the  execu- 
tioner, held  the  cords.  I  do  not  think,  however,  that  he 
learnt  anything  from  my  face. 

With  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders  he  abandoned 
the  subject. 

"By-the-bye,  Ducaine,'*  he  said,  "I  hope  you  won't 
mind  my  asking  you  a  rather  personal  question." 

"If  it  is  only  personal,"  I  answered  quietly,  "not  at 


136  THE    BETRAYAL 

all.  As  you  know,  I  may  not  discuss  any  subject  con- 
nected with  my  work." 

"Quite  so !  I  only  want  to  know  whether  your  sec- 
retarial duties  begin  and  end  with  your  work  on  the 
Council  of  Defence,  or  are  you  at  all  in  my  father's 
confidence  as  regards  his  private  affairs?" 

"I  am  temporary  secretary  to  the  Council  of  De- 
fence only.  Lord  Blenavon,"  I  answered.  "I  know 
nothing  whatever  of  your  father's  private  affairs.  He 
has  his  own  man  of  business." 

I  am  not  sure  whether  he  believed  me.  He  cracked 
some  walnuts  and  commenced  peeling  them. 

"My  father  will  never  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  "but  I 
feel  sure  that  he  makes  a  mistake  in  becoming  a  di- 
rector of  all  these  companies.  Politics  should  be  quite 
sufficient  to  engross  his  time,  and  the  money  cannot  be 
so  much  of  an  object  to  him.  I  don't  suppose  his 
holdings  are  large,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  one  or  two 
of  those  Australian  gold  mines  are  dicky,  and  you  know 
he  was  an  enormous  holder  of  Chartereds,  and  wouldn't 
sell,  worse  luck !  Of  course  I'm  not  afraid  of  his  losing 
in  the  long  run,  but  it  isn't  exactly  a  dignified  thing  to 
be  associated  with  these  concerns  that  aren't  exactly 
Al.  His  name  might  lead  people  into  speculations 
who  couldn't  altogether  afford  it." 

"I  know  nothing  whatever  of  these  matters,"  I  an- 
swered, "but  from  what  I  have  seen  of  your  father  I 
should  imagine  that  he  is  remarkably  able  to  guard  his 
own  interests." 

Blenavon  nodded. 

"I  suppose  that  is  true,"  he  admitted.     "But  when 


LADY    ANGELA'S    ENGAGEMENT    137 

he  is  already  a  rich  man,  with  very  simple  tastes,  I  am 
rather  surprised  that  he  should  care  to  meddle  with, 
such  things." 

"Playing  at  commerce,"  I  remarked,  "has  become 
rather  a  hobby  with  men  of  leisure  lately." 

*'And  women,  too,"  Blenavon  assented.  "Rather  aa 
ugly  hobby,  I  call  it." 

A  servant  entered  and  addressed  Blenavon. 

"The  carriage  is  at  the  door,  your  Lordship,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

Blenavon  glanced  at  his  watch  and  rose. 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  Ducaine,"  he 
said.  "I  was  to  have  dined  out  to-night,  and  I  must 
go  and  make  my  peace.     Another  glass  of  wine?" 

I  rose  at  once. 

"Nothing  more,  thank  you,"  I  said.  "I  will  just 
say  good-night  to  your  sister." 

"She's  probably  in  the  drawing-room,"  he  remarked. 
*'If  not,  I  will  make  your  excuses  when  I  see  her." 

Blenavon  hurried  out.  A  few  moments  later  I  heard 
the  wheels  of  his  carriage  pass  the  long  front  of  the 
house  and  turn  down  the  avenue.  I  lingered  for  a 
moment  where  I  was.  The  small  oak  table  at  which 
we  had  dined  seemed  like  an  oasis  of  colour  in  the  midst 
of  an  atmosphere  of  gloom.  The  room  was  large  and 
lofty,  and  the  lighting  was  altogether  inadequate. 
From  the  walls  there  frowned  through  the  shadows  the 
warlike  faces  of  generations  of  Rowchesters.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  apartment  four  armed  giants  stood 
grim  and  ghostlike  in  the  twilight,  which  seemed  to 
supply  their  empty  frames  with  the  presentment  of 


138  THE    BETRAYAL 

actual  warriors.  I  looked  down  upon  the  table,  all 
agleam  with  flowers,  and  fruit,  and  silver,  over  which 
shone  the  red  glow  of  the  shaded  lamps.  Exactly  op- 
posite to  me,  in  that  chair  now  pushed  carelessly  back, 
she  had  sat,  so  close  that  my  hand  could  have  touched 
hers  at  any  moment,  so  close  that  I  had  been  able  to 
wonder  more  than  ever  before  at  the  marvellous  white- 
ness of  her  skin,  the  perfection  of  her  small,  finely- 
shaped  features,  the  strange  sphinxlike  expression  of 
her  face,  always  suggestive  of  some  great  self-restraint, 
mysterious,  and  subtly  stimulating.  And  as  I  stood 
there  she  seemed  again  to  be  occupying  the  chair,  at 
first  a  faint  shadowy  presence,  but  gaining  with  every 
second  shape  and  outline,  until  I  could  scarcely  per- 
suade myself  that  it  was  not  she  who  sat  there,  she 
whose  eyes  more  than  once  during  dinner-time  had 
looked  into  mine  with  that  curious  and  instinctive  de- 
mand for  sympathy,  even  as  regards  the  things  of  the 
moment,  the  passing  jest,  the  most  transitory  of  emo- 
tions. A  few  minutes  ago  I  had  felt  that  I  knew  her 
better  than  ever  before  in  my  life,  and  now  the  chair 
was  empty.  My  heart  was  beating  at  the  imaginary 
presence  of  the  vainest  of  shadows.  She  was  going  to 
marry  Colonel  Mostyn  Ray. 

And  then  I  stood  as  though  suddenly  turned  to  stone. 
Before  me  were  the  great  front  windows  of  the  castle. 
Beyond,  eastwards,  stretched  the  salt  marshes,  the  salt 
marshes  riven  with  creeks.  Once  more  my  unwilling 
hands  touched  that  huddled-up  heap  of  extinct  human- 
ity. I  saw  the  dead  white  face,  which  the  sun  could 
never  warm  again,  and  I  felt  the  hands,  cold,  clammy. 


LADY    ANGELA'S    ENGAGEMENT    139 

horrible.  Ray  was  a  soldier,  and  life  and  death  had 
become  phrases  to  him;  but  I — it  was  the  first  dead 
man  I  had  ever  seen,  and  the  horror  of  it  was  cold  in 
my  blood.  Ray  had  murdered  him,  fought  with  him, 
perhaps,  but  killed  him.  What  would  she  say  if  she 
knew?  Would  his  hands  be  clean  to  her,  or  would  the 
horror  rise  up  like  a  red  wall  between  them? 

"Will  you  take  coffee,  sir?" 

I  set  my  teeth  and  turned  slowly  round.  I  even  took 
the  cup  from  the  tray  without  spilling  it. 

"What  liqueur  may  I  bring  you,  sir?"  the  man  asked. 

"Brandy,"  I  answered. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  was  laughing  at  myself,  not  quite 
naturally,  perhaps,  but  only  I  could  know  that.  I  was 
getting  to  be  a  morbid,  nervous  person.  It  was  the 
solitude!  I  must  get  away  from  it  all  before  long. 
Fate  had  been  playing  strange  tricks  with  me.  Life, 
which  a  few  months  ago  had  been  a  cold  and  barren 
thing,  was  suddenly  pressed  to  my  lips,  a  fantastic,  in- 
toxicating mixture.  I  had  drawn  enough  poison  into 
my  veins.     I  would  have  no  more.     I  swore  it. 


I  tried  to  leave  the  castle  unnoticed,  but  the  place 
was  alive  with  servants.  One  of  them  hurried  up  to 
me  as  I  tried  to  reach  my  hat  and  coat. 

"Her  ladyship  desired  me  to  say  that  she  was  in  the 
billiard-room,  sir,"  he  announced. 

"Will  you  tell  Lady  Angela — "  and  then  I  stopped. 
The  door  of  the  billiard-room  was  open,  and  Lady  An- 
gela stood  there,  the  outline  of  her  figure  sharply  de- 


140  THE    BETRAYAL 

fined  against  a  flood  of  light.  She  had  a  cue  in  her 
hand,  and  she  looked  across  at  me. 

"You  are  a  long  time,  Mr.  Ducaine.  I  am  waiting 
for  you  to  give  me  a  lesson  at  billiards.'* 

I  crossed  the  hall  to  her  side. 

**I  thought  that  as  Lord  Blenavon  had  gone  out — ** 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

**That  you  would  evade  your  duty,  which  is  clearly 
to  stay  and  entertain  your  hostess." 

She  closed  the  door  and  glanced  at  me  curiously. 

"What  has  happened  to  you?"  she  asked.  "You 
look  as  though  you  had  been  with  ghosts." 

**Is  it  so  impossible.?"  I  asked,  moving  a  little  nearer 
to  the  huge  log  fire.  "What  company  is  more  terrify- 
ing than  the  company  of  our  dead  thoughts  and  dead 
hopes  and  dead  memories?" 

"Really,  I  am  afraid  that  Blenavon  must  have  been 
a  very  depressing  companion!"  she  said,  leaning  her 
elbow  upon  the  broad  mantelpiece. 

It  was  absurd!  I  tried  to  shake  myself  free  from 
the  miseries  of  the  last  hour. 

"I  am  afraid  it  must  have  been  the  other  way,"  I 
said,  "for  your  brother  has  gone  out." 

*'Yes,"  she  said  quietly,  *'he  has  gone  to  that  woman 
at  Braster  Grange.  I  wish  I  knew  what  brought  her 
into  this  part  of  the  country." 

I  looked  round  at  the  billiard-table. 

"Did  you  mean  that  you  would  like  a  game?"  I 
asked.  "I  am  rather  out  of  practice,  but  I  used  to 
fancy  myself  a  little." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  she  answered,  sinking  into  a  low 


LADY   ANGELA'S   ENGAGEMENT    141 

chair,  "that  you  are  an  excellent  player,  but  I  am  will- 
ing to  take  it  for  granted.  I  do  not  wish  to  play  bil- 
liards.    Draw  that  chair  up  to  the  fire  and  talk  to  me." 

It  was  of  all  things  what  I  wished  to  avoid  that 
nighb.     But  there  was  no  escape.     I  obeyed  her. 

"What  your  brother  has  told  me  is,  I  presume,  no 
secret,"  I  said.  "I  am  to  wish  you  happiness,  am  I 
not.?" 

She  looked  up  at  me  in  quick  surprise. 

"Did  Blenavon  tell  you—" 

"That  you  had  promised  to  marry  Colonel  Mostyn 
Ray.     Yes." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
**Blenavon  is  not  as  a  rule  needlessly  communicative, 
and  at  present  it  is  almost  a  secret." 

^'Nevertheless,"  I  said,  turning  slowly  towards  her, 
"I  presume  that  it  is  true." 

"It  is  perfectly  true,"  she  answered. 

There  was  silence  between  us  for  several  minutes. 
One  of  the  footmen  came  softly  in  to  see  whether  we 
required  a  marker,  and  finding  us  talking,  withdrew.  I 
was  determined  that  the  onus  of  further  speech  should 
remain  with  her. 

"You  are  surprised.?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"Very." 

"And  why.?" 

"I  scarcely  know,"  I  answered,  "except  that  I  have 
never  associated  the  thought  of  marriage  with  Colonel 
Ray,  and  he  is  very  much  older  than  you." 

"Yes,  he  is  a  great  deal  older,"  she  answered.  *'I 
think  that  his  history  has  been  rather  a  sad  one.    He 


142  THE    BETRAYAL 

was  in  love  for  many  years  with  a  woman  who  married 
— some  one  else.  I  have  always  felt  sorry  for  him  ever 
since  I  was  a  little  girl." 

*'Do  you  know  who  that  woman  was  ?" 

**I  have  never  heard  her  name,"  she  answered. 

I  found  courage  to  lift  my  eyes  and  look  at  her. 

"May  I  ask  when  you  are  going  to  be  married?" 

Her  eyes  fell.  The  question  did  not  seem  to  please 
her. 

*'I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "We  have  not  spoken  of 
that  yet.    Everything  is  very  vague." 

"Colonel  Ray  is  coming  down  here,  of  course.?"  I 
remarked. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  she  declared.  "Not  at  any 
rate  until  the  next  meeting  of  the  Council.  I  shall  be 
back  in  town  before  then." 

"I  begin  to  believe,"  I  said,  with  a  grim  smile,  "that 
your  brother  was  right." 

"My  brother  right?" 

'*He  finds  you  enigmatic !  You  become  engaged  to  a 
man  one  day,  and  you  leave  him  the  next — ^without  ap- 
parent reason." 

She  was  obviously  disturbed.  A  slight  wave  of 
trouble  passed  over  her  face.  Her  eyes  failed  to  meet 
mine. 

*'That  I  cannot  altogether  explain  to  you,"  she  said. 
*'There  are  reasons  why  I  should  come,  but  apart  from 
them  this  place  is  very  dear  to  me.  I  think  that  when- 
ever anything  has  happened  to  me  I  have  wanted  to  be 
here.  You  are  a  man,  and  you  will  not  altogether  un- 
derstand this." 


LADY   ANGELA'S    ENGAGEMENT    143 

"Why  not?"  I  protested.  "We,  too,  have  our  senti- 
ment, the  sentiment  of  places  as  well  as  of  people.  If 
I  could  choose  where  to  die  I  think  that  it  would  be 
here,  with  my  windows  wide  open  and  the  roar  of  the 
incoming  tide  in  my  ears." 

"For  a  young  man,"  she  remarked,  looking  across  at 
me,  *'I  should  consider  you  rather  a  morbid  person." 

"There  are  times,"  I  answered,  "when  I  feel  inclined 
to  agree  with  you.    To-night  is  one  of  them." 

"That,"  she  said  coolly,  "is  unfortunate.  You  have 
been  over-working." 

"I  am  worried  by  a  problem,*'  I  told  her.  "Tell  me, 
are  you  a  great  believer  in  the  sanctity  of  human  life  ?" 

"What  a  question!"  she  murmured.  "My  own  life, 
at  any  rate,  seems  to  me  to  be  a  terribly  important 
thing." 

"Suppose  you  had  a  friend,"  I  said,  "who  was  one 
night  attacked  in  a  quiet  spot  by  a  man  who  sought  his 
life,  say,  for  the  purpose  of  robbery.  Your  friend  was 
the  stronger  and  easily  defended  himself.  Then  he  saw 
that  his  antagonist  was  a  man  of  ill  repute,  an  evildoer, 
a  man  whose  presence  upon  the  earth  did  good  to  no 
one.  So  he  took  him  by  the  throat  and  deliberately 
crushed  the  life  out  of  him.  Was  your  friend  a  mur- 
derer.?" 

She  smiled  at  me — that  quiet,  introspective  smile 
which  I  knew  so  well. 

"Does  the  end  justify  the  means?  No,  of  course 
not.  I  should  have  been  very  sorry  for  my  friend ;  but 
if  indeed  there  is  a  Creator,  it  is  He  alone  who  has  power 
to  take  back  what  He  has  given." 


144  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Your  friend,  then ^" 


"Don't  call  him  that !" 

I  rose  up  and  moved  towards  the  door.  I  think  that 
she  saw  something  in  my  face  which  checked  any 
attempt  she  might  have  made  to  detain  me. 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  I  said.    "I  cannot  stay.'* 

She  said  nothing.  I  looked  back  at  her  from  the 
door.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  a  little  distended, 
full  of  mute  questioning.  I  only  shook  my  head.  So  I 
left  her  and  passed  out  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
MORE    TREACHERY 

THERE  followed  for  me  a  period  of  unremit- 
ting hard  work,  days  during  which  I  never 
left  my  desk  save  at  such  hours  when  I  knew 
that  the  chances  of  meeting  any  one 
scarcely  existed.  Several  times  I  saw  Lady  Angela 
from  my  window  on  the  sands  below,  threading  her 
way  across  the  marshes  to  the  sea.  Once  she  passed 
my  window  very  slowly,  and  with  a  quick  backward 
glance  as  she  turned  to  descend  the  cliff.  But  I  sat 
still  with  clenched  teeth.  I  had  nailed  down  my  reso- 
lutions, I  had  determined  to  hold  fast  to  such  threads 
of  my  common  sense  as  remained.  Only  in  the  night- 
time, when  sleep  mocked  me  and  all  hope  of  escape 
was  futile,  was  I  forced  to  grapple  with  this  new- 
born monster  of  folly.  It  drove  me  up  across  the 
Park  to  where  the  house,  black  and  lightless,  rose  a 
dark  incongruous  mass  above  the  trees,  down  to 
the  sea,  where  the  wind  came  booming  across  the  bare 
country  northwards,  and  the  spray  leaped  white  and 
phosphorescent  into  the  night  like  flakes  of  wind- 
hurled  snow.  I  stood  as  close  to  the  sea  as  I  dared,  and 
I  prayed.  Once  I  saw  morning  lighten  the  mass  of 
clouds  eastwards,  and  the  grey  dawn  break  over  the 


146  THE    BETRAYAL 

empty  waters.  I  heard  the  winds  die  away,  and  I 
watched  the  sea  grow  calm.  Far  across  on  the  hori- 
zon there  was  faint  glimmer  of  cold  sunlight.  Then 
I  went  back  to  my  broken  rest.  It  was  my  solitude 
in  those  days  which  drove  me  to  seek  peace  or  some 
measure  of  it  from  these  things. 

At  last  a  break  came,  a  summons  to  London  to  a 
meeting  of  the  Council.  I  was  just  able  to  catch  my 
train  and  reach  the  War  Office  at  the  appointed  time. 
There  were  two  hours  of  important  work,  and  I  no- 
ticed a  general  air  of  gravity  on  the  faces  of  every 
one  present.  After  it  was  over  Ray  came  to  my 
side. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "Lord  Chelsford  wishes  to  speak 
to  you  for  a  few  moments.     Come  this  way." 

He  led  me  into  a  small,  barely-furnished  room, 
with  high  windows  and  only  one  door.  It  was  empty 
when  we  entered  it.  Ray  looked  at  me  as  he  closed 
the  door,  and  I  fancied  that  for  him  his  expression 
was  not  unfriendly. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "there  has  been  some  more  of 
this  damned  leakage.  Chelsford  will  ask  you  questions. 
Answer  him  simply,  but  tell  him  everything — every- 
thing, you  understand." 

"I  should  not  dream  of  any  concealment,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Of  course  not!     But  it  is  possible — Ah!" 

He  broke  off  and  remained  listening.  There  was 
the  sound  of  a  quick  footstep  in  the  hall. 

"Now  you  will  understand  what  I  mean,"  he 
whispered.     "Remember !" 


MORE    TREACHERY  147 

It  was  not  Chelsford,  but  the  Duke,  who  entered 
and  greeted  me  cordially.  With  a  farewell  nod  to 
me  Ray  disappeared.  The  Duke  looked  round  and 
watched  him  close  the  door.     Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "a  copy  of  our  proposed  camp 
at  Winchester,  and  the  fortifications  on  Bedler's  Hill, 
has  reached  Paris." 

"Your  Grace,"  I  answered,  "it  was  I  who  pointed 
out  to  you  that  our  papers  dealing  with  those  matters 
had  been  tampered  with.  I  am  waiting  now  to  be 
cross-questioned  by  Lord  Chelsford.  I  have  done  all 
that  is  humanly  possible.  It  goes  without  saying  that 
my  resignation  is  yours  whenever  you  choose  to  ask 
for  it." 

The  Duke  sat  down  and  looked  at  me  thoughtfully. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "I  believe  in  you." 

I  drew  a  little  breath  of  relief.  The  Duke  was  a  hard 
man  and  a  man  of  few  words.  I  felt  that  in  making 
that  speech  he  had  departed  a  great  deal  from  his 
usual  course  of  action,  and  I  knew  that  he  meant  it. 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  your  Grace,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"I  think,"  he  continued,  "that  Lord  Chelsford  and 
in  fact  all  the  others  are  inclined  to  accept  you  on  my 
estimate.  We  all  of  us  feel  that  we  are  the  victims 
of  some  unique  and  very  marvellous  piece  of  roguery 
on  the  part  of  some  one  or  other.  I  believe  myself 
that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery." 

"Thank  Heaven !"     I  murmured. 

"We  shall  only  succeed  in  unravelling  this  mystery," 
the  Duke    continued  deliberately,  "by    very    cautious 


148  THE    BETRAYAL 

and  delicate  manoeuvring.  I  have  an  idea  which  I 
propose  to  carry  out.  But  its  success  depends  largely 
upon  you." 

"Upon  me?"  I  repeated,  amazed. 

"Exactly!  Upon  your  common  sense  and  judg- 
ment." 

The  Duke  paused  to  listen  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  continued,  speaking  very  slowly,  and  leaning  over 
towards  me — 

"Lord  Chelsford  proposes  for  his  own  satisfaction 
to  cross-examine  you.  It  occurs  to  me  that  you  will 
probably  tell  him  of  your  fancied  disturbance  of 
those  papers  in  the  safe,  and  of  your  little  adven- 
ture with  the  Prince  of  Malors." 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Have  they  not  all  been  told  of  this.''"     I  asked. 

"No." 

There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence.  I  was  a  little 
staggered.    The  Duke  remained  imperturbable. 

"They  have  not  been  told,"  he  repeated.  "No  one 
has  been  told.  The  matter  was  one  for  my  discretion, 
and  I  exercised  it." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  remark  which  I  could  make, 
so  I  kept  silence. 

"We  have  discussed  this  matter  before,"  the  Duke 
said,  "and  my  firm  conviction  is  that  you  were  mis- 
taken. That  safe  could  only  have  been  opened  by 
yourself,  Ray,  or  myself.  I  think  I  am  justified  in 
saying  that  neither  of  us  did  open  it." 

**Nevertheless  that  safe    was    opened,"  I    objected. 


MORE    TREACHERY  149 

**Those  were  the  very  papers,  copies  of  which  have 
found  their  way  to  Paris." 

"Exactly,"  the  Duke  answered.  "Only  you  must 
remember  that  every  member  of  the  Board  was  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  their  contents  to  have  sent 
those  particulars  to  Paris,  without  opening  the  safe 
for  a  further  investigation  of  them.  Any  statement 
of  your  suspicion  would  only  result  in  attention  being 
diverted  from  the  proper  quarters  to  members  of  my 
household.  I  believe  that  even  if  you  are  right,  even 
if  those  papers  were  disturbed,  it  was  done  simply  to 
throw  dust  in  your  eyes.     Do  you  follow  me?" 

"Yes,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

**Lord  Chelsford,  if  you  were  able  to  convince  him, 
would  most  certainly  be  misled  in  this  direction.  That 
is  why  I  have  kept  your  report  to  myself.  That  is 
why  my  advice  to  you  now  is  to  say  nothing  about 
your  imagined  displacement  of  those  papers.  That 
is  my  advice.    You  understand?" 

"Yes,  your  Grace,"  I  repeated. 

"With  regard  to  the  Prince  of  Malors,"  the  Duke 
continued,  "my  firm  conviction  is  that  you  were  mis- 
taken. Malors  is  not  a  politician.  He  has  nothing 
whatever  to  gain  or  lose  in  this  matter.  He  is  a  mem- 
ber of  one  of  the  most  ancient  houses  of  Europe,  a 
house  which  for  generations  has  been  closely  connected 
with  my  own.  I  absolutely  decline  to  believe  that 
whilst  under  my  roof  a  Malors  could  lower  himself  to 
the  level  of  a  common  spy.  Such  an  accusation 
brought  against  him  would  be  regarded  as  a  blot  upon 


150  THE    BETRAYAL 

ray  hospitality.  Further,  it  would  mean  the  break- 
ing off  of  my  ancient  ties  of  friendship.  I  am  very 
anxious,  therefore,  that  you  should  bring  yourself  to 
accept  my  view  as  to  this  episode  also." 

"Your  Grace,"  I  answered,  "you  ask  me  very 
hard  things." 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  clear  cold  eyes. 

"Surely  not  too  hard,  Mr.  Ducaine,'*  he  said.  "I 
ask  you  to  accept  my  judgment.  Consider  for  a 
moment.  You  are  a  young  man,  little  more  than  a 
boy.  I  for  forty  years  have  been  a  servant  of  my 
country,  both  in  the  field  and  as  a  lawmaker.  I  am 
a  Cabinet  Minister.  I  have  a  life-long  experience  of 
men  and  their  ways.  My  judgment  in  this  matter 
is  that  you  were  mistaken,  and  much  mischief  is  likely 
to  ensue  if  the  Prince  of  Malors  should  find  himself  an 
object  of  suspicion  amongst  us." 

*'Your  Grace,"  I  said,  "forgive  me,  but  why  do 
you  not  say  these  things  to  the  Board,  or  to  Lord 
Chelsford  and  Colonel  Ray  after  they  have  heard  my 
story?" 

"Because,"  the  Duke  answered,  "I  have  no  confi- 
dence in  the  judgment  of  either  of  them.  Both  in 
their  way  are  excellent  men,  but  they  are  of  this  new 
generation,  who  do  not  probe  beneath  the  surface, 
who  form  their  opinions  only  from  the  obvious.  It  is 
possible  that  after  hearing  your  story  they  might 
consider  the  problem  solved.  I  am,  at  any  rate,  con- 
vinced that  they  would  commence  a  search  for  its  solu- 
tion in  altogether  wrong  quarters." 

"Your  Grace,"  I  said  firmly,  "I  am  very  sorry  in- 


MORE    TREACHERY  151 

deed  that  I  cannot  take  your  advice.  I  think  it  most 
important  that  Lord  Chelsford  should  know  that  those 
papers  were  tampered  with.  And  as  regards  the  Prince 
of  Malors,  whatever  his  motive  may  have  been,  I 
discovered  him  in  the  act  of  perusing  the  documents 
relating  to  the  subway  of  Portsmouth.  I  cannot  pos- 
sibly withhold  my  knowledge  of  these  things  from 
Lord  Chelsford.  In  fact,  I  think  it  is  most  impor- 
tant that  he  should  know  of  them." 

The  Duke  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  showed  no 
sign  of  anger. 

"If  you  prefer  your  own  judgment  to  mine,  Mr. 
Ducaine,"  he  said,  "I  have  no  more  to  say.  I  have 
taken  you  into  my  confidence,  and  I  have  endeavoured 
to  show  you  your  most  politic  course  of  behaviour.  If 
your  views  are  so  far  opposed,  you  must  not  consider 
it  an  injustice  if  I  decide  that  a  person  of  more  judg- 
ment is  required  successfully  to  conduct  the  duties  of 
secretary  to  the  Council." 

"I  can  only  thank  your  Grace  for  your  past  kind- 
ness," I  answered  with  sinking  heart. 

He  looked  across  at  me  with  still  cold  eyes. 

*'Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  said.  *'I  do  not  dis- 
miss you.  I  shall  leave  that  to  the  Board.  If  my 
colleagues  are  favourably  disposed  towards  you  I  shall 
not  interfere.  Only  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  you 
must  take  your  chance." 

"I  quite  understand  your  Grace,"  I  declared,  **I 
think  that  you  are  treating  me  very  fairly." 

The  Duke  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

*'Here  they  come!"  he  remarked. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
IN  WHICH  I  SPEAK  OUT 

THE  door  was  thrown  open.  Lord  Chelst'ord 
and  Colonel  Ray  entered  together.  The 
Commander-in-Chief  accompanied  them, 
and  there  was  also  present  a  person  who 
sat  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  and  who,  I  learned 
afterwards,  was  a  high  official  in  the  secret  service. 
More  than  ever,  perhaps,  I  realized  at  that  moment  in 
the  presence  of  these  men  the  strangeness  of  the 
events  which  for  a  short  space  of  time,  at  any  rate, 
had  brought  me  into  association  with  persons  and 
happenings  of  such  importance. 

Lord  Chelsford  seated  himself  at  the  open  desk 
opposite  to  the  Duke.  As  was  his  custom,  he  wasted 
no  time  in  preliminaries. 

*'We  wish  for  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
you,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "on  the  subject  of  this 
recent  leakage  of  news  concerning  our  proceedings  on 
the  Council  of  Defence.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the 
subject  is  a  very  serious  one." 

"I  quite  appreciate  its  importance,  sir,"    I  answered. 

"The  particular  documents  of  which  we  have  news 


IN   WHICH  I  SPEAK  OUT  15S 

from  Paris,"  Lord  Chelsford  continued,  "are  those 
having  reference  to  the  proposed  camp  at  Winchester 
and  the  subway  at  Portsmouth.  I  understand,  Mr. 
Ducaine,  that  these  were  drafted  by  you,  and  placed 
in  a  safe  in  the  hbrary  of  Rowchester  on  the  evening 
of  the  eighteenth  of  this  month." 

"That  is  so,  sir,"  I  answered.  "And  early  the  next 
morning  I  reported  to  the  Duke  that  the  papers  had 
been  tampered  with." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  several  moments. 
Lord  Chelsford  glanced  at  the  Duke,  who  sat  there 
imperturbable,  with  a  chill,  mirthless  smile  at  the  cor- 
ner of  his  lips.  Then  he  looked  again  at  me,  as  though 
he  had  not  heard  aright. 

"Will  you  kindly  repeat  that,  Mr.  Ducaine?"  he 
said. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I  had  occasion  to 
go  to  the  safe  again  early  on  the  morning  of  the  nine- 
teenth, and  I  saw  at  once  that  the  documents  in  ques- 
tion had  been  tampered  with.  I  reported  the  matter 
at  once  to  his  Grace." 

The  eyes  of  every  one  were  bent  upon  the  Duke. 
He  nodded  his  head  slowly. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "certainly  came  to  me  and 
made  the  statement  which  he  has  just  repeated.  "I 
considered  the  matter,  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  mistaken.  I  was  sure  of  it  then.  I  am 
equally  sure  of  it  now." 

"Tell  us,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  "what 
your  reasons  were  for  making  such  a  statement." 

I  took  a  piece  of  red  tape  and  a  newspaper  from  the 


164  THE    BETRAYAL 

table  before  which  I  stood.  I  folded  up  the  news- 
paper and  tied  the  tape  around  it. 

"When  I  put  those  documents  away,"  I  said,  "I 
tied  them  up  with  a  knot  like  this,  of  my  own  invention, 
which  I  have  never  seen  used  by  anybody  else.  In 
the  morning  I  found  that  my  knot  had  been  untied,  and 
that  the  tape  around  the  papers  had  been  re-tied  in  an 
ordinary  bow." 

"Will  you  permit  me  for  a  moment,"  the  Duke  in- 
terposed. "The  safe,  I  believe,  Mr.  Ducaine,  was 
secured  with  a  code  lock,  the  word  of  which  was  known 
to — whom  ?" 

"Yourself,  sir.  Colonel  Ray,  and  myself." 

The  Duke  nodded. 

"If  I  remember  rightly,"  he  said,  "the  code  word 
was  never  mentioned,  but  was  written  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  glanced  at  by  each  of  us  in  turn,  and  imme- 
diately destroyed," 

"That  is  quite  true,  sir." 

"Now,  do  you  believe,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  the  Duke 
continued,  "that  it  was  possible  for  any  one  else 
except  us  three  to  have  attained  to  the  knowledge 
of  that  word.?" 

"I  do  not,  sir,"  I  admitted. 

*'Do  you  believe  that  it  was  possible  for  any  one 
to  have  opened  the  safe  without  the  knowledge  of  that 
word?" 

"Without  breaking  it  open,  no,  sir." 

"There  were  no  signs  of  the  lock  having  been 
tampered  with  when  you  went  to  it  in  the  morning .?" 

"None,  sir.*' 


IN   WHICH  I  SPEAK  OUT  165 

"It  was  set  at  the  correct  word,  the  word  known 
only  to  Colonel  Ray,  myself,  and  yourself?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  Duke  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  addressed 
Lord  Chelsford. 

"For  the  reasons  which  you  have  heard  from  Mr. 
Ducaine  himself,"  he  said  drily,  "I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  mistaken  in  his  suggestion.  I 
think  that  you  will  probably  be  inclined  to  agree 
with  me." 

These  men  had  learnt  well  the  art  of  masking  their 
feelings.  From  Lord  Chelsford's  polite  bow  I  could 
gather  nothing. 

"I  am  forced  to  admit,"  he  said,  "that  no  other 
conclusion  seems  possible.  Now,  Mr.  Ducaine,  with 
regard  to  the  execution  of  your  work.  It  is  carried 
out  altogether,  I  believe,  at  the  'Brand'.''" 

"Entirely,  sir." 

"Your  only  servant  is  the  man  Grooton,  for  whom  the 
Duke  and  I  myself  are  prepared  to  vouch.  You  are 
also  watched  by  detectives  residing  in  the  village,  as  I 
dare  say  you  know.  I  also  understand  that  you  have 
no  private  correspondence,  and  receive  practically  no 
visitors.  Now  tell  me  the  only  persons  who,  to  your 
knowledge,  have  entered  the  'Brand'  since  you  have 
been  engaged  in  this  work." 

I  answered  him  at  once. 

"Colonel  Ray,  Lady  Angela  Harberly,  Lord  Blen- 
avon,  the  Prince  of  Malors,  and  a  young  lady  called 
Blanche  Moyat,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  in  Braster  at 
whose  house  I  used  sometimes  to  visit." 


166  THE    BETRAYAL 

Lord  Chelsford  referred  to  some  notes  in  his  hand. 
Then  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked  at  me 
steadfastly. 

**Is  there  any  one,"  he  asked,  "whom  you  suspect  to 
have  visited  you  for  the  purpose,  either  direct  or 
indirect,  of  gaining  information  as  to  your  work?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered  promptly. 

A  little  exclamation  escaped  from  the  Commander- 
in-Chief.  Lord  Chelsford  never  removed  his  eyes  from 
my  face,  the  Duke  had  still  the  appearance  of  a  tol- 
erant but  slightly  bored  listener. 

"Who?"  Lord  Chelsford  asked. 

"The  Prince  of  Malors,"  I  answered. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Lord  Chelsford 
turned  again  to  his  notes.     Then  he  looked  up  at  me. 

"Your  reasons?"  he  asked. 

I  told  them  the  story  carefully  and  circumstantially. 
When  I  had  finished  Colonel  Ray  left  his  seat  and 
whispered  something  in  Lord  Chelsford*s  ear.  The 
Duke  interposed. 

**I  wish,"  he  said,  "to  add  a  brief  remark  to  the 
story  which  you  have  just  heard.  I  have  known  Malors 
since  he  was  a  boy,  my  father  knew  his  father,  and, 
as  you  may  know,  our  families  have  been  frequently 
connected  in  marriage.  I  do  not  wish  to  impugn  the 
good  faith  of  this  young  man,  but  the  Prince  of 
Malors  was  my  guest,  and  the  accusation  against  him 
is  one  which  I  cannot  believe." 

"The  story,  as  I  have  told  it,  sir,  is  absolutely  true," 
I  said  to  Lord  Chelsford.  "There  was  no  room  for  any 
mistake  or  misapprehension  on  my  part.     I  am  afraid 


IN   WHICH  I  SPEAK  OUT  157 

that  I  haven't  been  a  great  success  as  your  secretary. 
Colonel  Ray  gave  me  to  understand,  of  course,  that 
your  object  in  engaging  an  utterly  unknown  person 
was  to  try  and  stop  this  leakage  of  information.  It  is 
still  going  on,  and  I  cannot  stop  it.  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  give  up  my  post  at  any  moment." 

Lord  Chelsford  nodded  towards  the  door. 

"Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  step  into  the  next  room 
for  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Ducaine.'"'  he  said.  "We  will 
discuss  this  matter  together." 

I  departed  at  once,  and  found  my  way  into  a  bare 
waiting-room,  hung  with  a  few  maps,  and  with  un- 
carpeted  floor.  The  minutes  dragged  along  slowly. 
I  hated  the  thought  of  dismissal,  I  rebelled  against  it 
almost  fiercely.  I  had  done  my  duty,  I  had  told  the 
truth,  there  was  nothing  against  me  save  this  obstinate 
and  quixotic  loyalty  of  the  Duke  to  an  old  family 
friend.  Yet  I  scarcely  dared  hope  that  there  was  a 
chance  for  me. 

At  last  I  heard  the  door  open,  and  the  sound  of 
friendly  adieux  in  the  passage.  Lord  Chelsford  came 
in  to  me  alone.  He  took  up  a  position  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  and  looked  at  me  thoughtfully. 

"Well,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "we  have  discussed 
this  matter  thoroughly,  and  we  are  all  practically 
agreed  that  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  ask  you 
to  give  up  your  position." 

I  was  almost  overcome.  It  was  a  wonderful  relief 
to  me. 

"But  surely  the  Duke "  I  faltered. 

"The    Duke    is    very    loyal    to    his    friends,    Mr. 


158  THE    BETRAYAL 

Ducaine,"  he  said,  "but  he  is  also  a  man  with  a  nice 
sense  of  justice.  You  and  he  regard  two  incidents  from 
entirely  different  points  of  view,  but  he  does  not  for 
a  moment  suggest  that  your  account  of  them  is  not  an 
honest  one.  He  looks  upon  you  as  a  little  nervous  and 
overstrung  by  your  responsibilities  and  disposed  to  be 
imaginative.  He  will  not  hear  anything  against  the 
Prince  of  Malors." 

*'My  story  is  as  true  as  God's  Word,"  I  declared. 

**I  am  inclined  to  believe  in  it  myself,  Mr.  Ducaine," 
said  liord  Chelsford.  "There  are  indications  of  a 
strong  revival  of  Royalist  sentiment  amongst  the 
French  people,  and  it  is  very  possible  that  the  Prince 
of  Malors  may  wish  to  ingratiate  himself  by  any  means 
with  the  French  army.  This  sort  of  thing  scarcely 
sounds  like  practical  politics,  but  one  has  to  bear  in 
mind  the  peculiar  temperament  of  the  man  himself,  and 
the  nation.  I  personally  believe  that  the  Prince  of 
Malors  would  consider  himself  justified  in  abusing  the 
hospitality  of  his  dearest  friend  in  the  cause  of  patriot- 
ism. At  any  rate,  this  is  my  view,  and  I  am  acting 
upon  it.  All  danger  from  that  source  will  now  be  at 
an  end,  for  in  an  hour's  time  the  Prince  will  be  under 
the  surveillance  of  detectives  for  the  remainder  of  his 
stay  in  England." 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  am  to  go  back  to  Braster,  then  ?"  I  asked. 

"To-night,  if  possible,"  Lord  Chelsford  answered. 
**Go  on  living  as  you  have  been  living.  And,  listen !  If 
you  should  have  further  cause  to  suspect  the  Prince 
of  Malors  or  anybody  else,  communicate  with  me  or 


IN   WHICH  I  SPEAK  OUT  159 

with  Ray.  The  Duke  is,  of  course,  a  man  of  ability 
and  an  honourable  man,  but  he  is  prejudiced  in  favour 
of  his  friends.  Some  of  us  others  have  had  to  learn  our 
lessons  of  life,  and  men,  in  a  sharper  school.  You 
understand  me,  Mr.  Ducaine,  I  am  sure." 

"I  perfectly  understand,  sir,"  I  answered. 

**There  is  nothing  more  which  you  wish  to  ask  me?" 

"There  is  a  suggestion  I  should  like  to  make,  sir, 
with  regard  to  the  disposal  of  my  finished  work,"  I 
told  him. 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Ducaine.  I  shall  be  glad  to  listen 
to  it." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Lord  Chelsford  held 
up  his  finger. 

"Send  it  me  in  writing,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"to-morrow. — Come  in  I" 

Ray  entered. 


CHAPTER    XIX 
MRS.     SMITH-LESSING 

RAY  and  I  left  the  building  together.  As  we 
turned  into  Pall  Mall  he  glanced  at  his 
watch. 
"You  have  missed  the  six  o'clock  train," 
he  remarked.  *'I  suppose  you  know  that  there  is  noth- 
ing now  till  the  nine-twenty.  Will  you  come  to  the 
club  with  me,  and  have  some  dinner?" 

It  was  less  an  invitation  than  a  command.  I  felt  a 
momentary  impulse  of  rebellion,  but  the  innate  master- 
fulness of  the  man  triimiphed  easily.  I  found  myself 
walking,  a  little  against  my  will,  down  Pall  Mall  by 
his  side.  A  man  of  some  note,  he  was  saluted  every 
minute  by  passers-by,  whom,  however,  he  seemed  seldom 
to  notice.  In  his  town  clothes,  his  great  height,  his 
bronzed  face,  and  black  beard  made  him  a  sufficiently 
striking  personality.  I  myself,  though  I  was  little 
short  of  six  feet,  seemed  almost  insignificant  by  his 
side.  Until  we  reached  the  club  he  maintained  an  un- 
broken silence.  He  even  ignored  some  passing  comment 
of  mine;  but  when  once  inside  the  building  he  seemed 
to  remember  that  he  was  my  host,  and  his  manner  be- 
came one  of  stiff  kindness.     He  ordered  an  excellent 


MRS.     SMITH-LESSING  161 

dinner  and  chose  the  wine  with  care.  Then  he  leaned 
a  Httle  forward  across  the  table,  and  electrified  me  by 
his  first  remark. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "what  relatives  have  you  with 
whom  you  are  in  any  sort  of  communication.'"' 

"None  at  all !"  I  answered. 

"Sir  Michael  Trogoldy  was  your  mother's  brother," 
he  remarked.     "He  is  still  alive." 

"I  believe  so,"  I  admitted.  "I  have  never  approached 
him,  nor  has  he  ever  taken  any  notice  of  me." 

"You  did  not  write  to  him,  for  instance,  when 
Heathcote  absconded,  and  you  had  to  leave  college?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  answered.  "I  did  not  choose  to 
turn  beggar." 

"How  much,"  he  asked,  "do  you  know  of  your  family 
history .?" 

"I  know,"  I  told  him,  *'that  my  father  was  cashiered 
from  the  army  for  misconduct,  and  committed  suicide. 
I  know,  too,  that  my  mother's  people  treated  her  shame- 
fully, and  that  she  died  alone  in  Paris  and  almost  in 
poverty.  It  was  scarcely  likely,  therefore,  that  I  was 
going  to  apply  to  them  for  help." 

Ray  nodded. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  remarked  grimly.  "I  shall  have 
to  talk  to  you  for  a  few  minutes  about  your  father." 

I  said  nothing.  My  surprise,  indeed,  had  bereft  me 
of  words.     He  sipped  his  wine  slowly,  and  continued. 

"Fate  has  dealt  a  little  hardly  with  you,"  he  said. 
"I  am  almost  a  stranger  to  you,  and  there  are  even 
reasons  why  you  and  I  could  never  be  friends.  Yet  it 
apparently  falls  to  my  lot  to  supplement  the  little  you 


162  THE    BETRAYAL 

know  of  a  very  unpleasant  portion  of  your  family 
history.  That  rascal  of  a  lawyer  who  absconded  with 
your  money  should  have  told  you  on  your  twenty-first 
birthday." 

"A  pleasant  heritage!"  I  remarked  bitterly;  *'yet  I 
always  wanted  to  know  the  whole  truth." 

"Here  goes,  then,*'  he  said,  filling  my  glass  with  wine. 
*'Your  father  was  second  in  command  at  Gibraltar. 
He  sold  a  plan  of  the  gallery  forts  to  the  French  Gov- 
ernment, and  was  dismissed  from  the  army." 

I  started  as  though  I  had  been  stung.  Ray  con- 
tinued, his  stern  matter-of-fact  tone  unshaken. 

*'He  did  not  commit  suicide  as  you  were  told.  He 
lived,  in  Paris,  a  life  of  continual  and  painful  degenera- 
tion. Your  mother  died  of  a  broken  heart.  There 
was  another  woman,  of  course,  whose  influence  over 
your  father  was  unbounded,  and  at  whose  instigation  he 
committed  this  disgraceful  act.  This  woman  is  now  at 
Braster." 

My  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  I  was  quite  incapable  of 
speech. 

"Her  real  name,"  he  continued  coolly,  "God  only 
knows.  For  the  moment  she  calls  herself  Mrs.  Smith- 
Lessing.  She  is  a  Franco- American,  a  political  adven- 
turess of  the  worst  type,  living  by  her  wits.  She  is 
ugly  enough  to  be  Satan's  mistress,  and  she's  forty- 
five  if  she's  a  day,  yet  she  has  but  to  hold  up  her  finger, 
and  men  tumble  the  gifts  of  their  life  into  her  lap, 
gold  and  honour,  conscience  and  duty.  At  present  I 
think  it  highly  probable  that  you  are  her  next  selected 
victim." 


MRS.     SMITH-LESSING  163 

For  several  minutes  Ray  proceeded  with  his  dinner. 
I  did  my  best  to  follow  his  example,  but  my  appetite 
was  gone.  I  could  scarcely  persuade  myself  that  the 
whole  affair  was  not  a  dream — that  the  men  who  sat 
all  round  us  in  little  groups,  the  dark  liveried  servants 
passing  noiselessly  backwards  and  forwards,  were  not 
figures  in  some  shadowy  nightmare,  and  that  I  should 
not  wake  in  a  moment  to  find  myself  curled  up  in  a 
railway  carriage  on  my  way  home.  But  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  visible  presence  of  Colonel  Mostyn  Ray. 
Strong,  stalwart,  he  sat  within  a  few  feet  of  me, 
calmly  eating  his  dinner  as  though  my  agony  were  a 
thing  of  little  account.    He,  at  least,  was  real. 

"This  woman,"  he  continued,  presently,  "either  is, 
or  would  like  to  be,  mixed  up  with  the  treachery  that 
is  somewhere  close  upon  us.  Sooner  or  later  she  will 
approach  you.    You  are  warned." 

"Yes,"  I  repeated  vaguely,  "I  am  warned." 

"I  have  finished,"  Colonel  Ray  remarked.  "Go  on 
with  your  dinner  and  think.  I  will  answer  any  question 
presently." 

There  were  only  two  I  put  to  him,  and  that  was  when 
my  hansom  had  been  called  and  I  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving. 

"Is  he — my  father — alive  now.?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  reason  to  believe,"  Ray  answered,  "that  he 
may  be  dead." 

"How  is  it,"  I  asked,  "that  you  are  so  well  acquainted 
with  these  things?  Were  you  at  any  time  my  father's 
friend?" 

"I  was  acquainted  with  him,"  Ray  answered.     "We 


164  THE    BETRAYAL 

were  at  one  time  in  the  same  regiment.  My  friendship 
was — with  your  mother." 

The  answer  was  illuming,  but  he  never  winced. 

"Indirectly,"  I  said,  "I  seem  to  have  a  good  deal 
to  thank  you  for.  Why  do  you  say  that  you  can 
never  be  my  friend.?" 

"You  are  your  father's  son,"  he  answered  curtly. 

**I  am  also  my  mother's  son,"  I  objected. 

*'For  which  reason,"  he  said,  "I  have  done  what  I 
could  to  give  you  a  start  in  life." 

And  with  these  words  he  dismissed  me. 

I  received  Ray's  warning  concerning  Mrs.  Smith- 
Lessing,  the  new  tenant  of  Braster  Grange,  some- 
where between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  and  barely  an 
hour  later  I  found  myself  alone  in  a  first-class  carriage 
with  her,  and  a  four  hours'  journey  before  us.  She 
had  arrived  at  King's  Cross  apparently  only  a  few  min- 
utes before  the  departure  of  the  train,  for  the  platform 
was  almost  deserted  when  I  took  my  seat.  Just  as  I 
had  changed  my  hat  for  a  cap,  however,  wrapped  my 
rug  around  my  knees,  and  settled  down  for  the  journey, 
the  door  of  my  carriage  was  thrown  open,  and  I  saw 
two  women  looking  in,  one  of  whom  I  recognized  at 
once.  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  although  the  night  was 
warm,  was  wearing  a  heavy  and  magnificent  fur  coat, 
and  the  guard  of  the  train  himself  was  attending  her. 
Behind  stood  a  plainly  dressed  woman,  evidently  her 
maid,  carrying  a  flat  dressing-case.  There  was  a'  brief 
colloquy  between  the  three.  It  ended  in  dressing-case, 
a  pile  of  books,  a  reading  lamp,  and  a  formidable  array 


MRS.     SMITH-LESSING  165 

of  hat-boxes,  and  milliner's  parcels  being  placed  upon 
the  rack  and  vacant  seats  in  my  compartment,  and 
immediately  afterwards  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  herself  en- 
tered. I  heard  her  tell  her  maid  to  enter  the  carriage 
behind.  The  door  was  closed  and  the  guard  touched 
off  his  hat.    A  minute  later  and  we  were  off. 

I  was  alone  with  the  adventuress.  I  had  no  doubt 
but  that  she  had  chosen  my  carriage  with  intent.  I 
placed  my  dispatch-box  on  the  rack  above  my  head, 
and  opened  out  a  newspaper,  which  I  had  no  intention 
of  reading.  She,  for  her  part,  arranged  her  travelling 
light  and  took  out  a  novel.  She  did  not  apparently 
even  glance  in  my  direction,  and  seemed  to  become 
immersed  at  once  in  her  reading.  So  we  travelled  for 
half  an  hour  or  so. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  I  was  suddenly  conscious 
that  she  had  laid  down  her  book,  and  was  regarding  me 
through  partially-closed  eyes.  I  too  laid  down  my 
paper.    Our  eyes  met,  and  she  smiled. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "but  did  I  not  see  you  one 
day  last  week  upon  the  sands  at  Braster  with  Lady 
Angela  Harberly?" 

"I  believe  so,"  I  answered.  *'You  were  riding,  I 
think,  with  her  brother." 

"How  fortunate  that  I  should  find  myself  travelling 
with  a  neighbour!"  she  murmured,  "I  rather  dreaded 
this  night  journey.  I  just  missed  the  six  o'clock,  and 
I  have  been  at  the  station  ever  since." 

I  understood  at  once  one  of  the  charms  of  this 
woman.  Her  voice  was  deliciously  soft  and  musical. 
The  words  seemed  to  leave  her  lips  slowly,  almost  lin- 


166  THE    BETRAYAL 

geringly,  and  she  spoke  with  the  precision  and  slight 
accent  of  a  well-educated  foreigner.  Her  eyes  seemed 
to  be  wandering  all  over  me  and  my  possessions,  yet 
her  interest,  if  it  amounted  to  that,  never  even  sug- 
gested curiosity  or  inquisitiveness. 

"It  is  scarcely  a  pleasant  journey  at  this  time  of 
night,"  I  remarked. 

"Indeed,  no,"  she  assented.  "I  wonder  if  you  know 
my  name.?  I  am  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  of  Braster 
Grange.     And  you.''" 

"My  name  is  Guy  Ducaine,"  I  told  her.  "I  live  at  a 
small  cottage  called  the  'Brand.'  " 

"That  charming  little  place  you  can  just  see  from 
the  sands.''"  she  exclaimed.  "I  thought  the  Duke's 
head-keeper  lived  there." 

"It  was  a  keeper's  lodge  before  the  Duke  was  kind 
enough  to  let  it  to  me,"  I  told  her. 

She  nodded. 

**It    is    a    very    delightful    abode,"    she   murmured. 

She  picked  up  her  book,  and  after  turning  over  the 
pages  aimlessly  for  a  few  minutes,  she  recommenced  to 
read.  I  followed  her  example;  but  when  a  little  later 
on  I  glanced  across  In  her  direction,  I  found  that  her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  and  that  her  novel  lay  in  her 
lap. 

"My  book  is  so  stupid,"  she  said  apologetically.  "I 
find,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  added  with  sudden  earnest- 
ness, **the  elements  of  a  much  stranger  story  closer  at 
hand." 

"That,"  I  remarked,  laying  down  my  own  book,  and 
looking  steadily  across  at  her,  "sounds  enigmatic." 


MRS.     SMITH-LESSING  167 

**I  think,"  she  said,  "that  I  am  very  foolish  to  talk 
to  you  at  all  about  it.  If  you  know  who  I  am,  you 
are  probably  armed  against  me  at  all  points.  You 
will  weigh  and  measure  my  words,  you  will  say  to 
yourself,  *Lies,  lies,  lies !'  You  will  not  believe  in  me 
or  anything  I  say.  And,  again,  if  you  do  not  know, 
the  story  is  too  painful  a  one  for  me  to  tell." 

"Then  let  us  both  avoid  it,"  I  said,  reaching  again 
for  my  paper.  "We  shall  stop  at  Ipswich  in  an  hour. 
I  will  change  carriages  there." 

She  turned  round  in  her  seat  towards  the  window, 
as  though  to  hide  her  face.  My  own  attempt  at  read- 
ing was  a  farce.  I  watched  her  over  the  top  of  my 
paper.  She  was  looking  out  into  the  darkness,  and 
she  seemed  to  me  to  be  crying.  Every  now  and  then 
her  shoulders  heaved  convulsively.  Suddenly  she 
faced  me  once  more.  There  were  traces  of  tears  on  her 
face;  a  small  lace  handkerchief  was  knotted  up  in  her 
nervous  fingers. 

"Oh,  I  cannot,"  she  exclaimed  plaintively.  "I  can- 
not sit  here  alone  with  you  and  say  nothing.  I  know 
that  I  am  judged  already.  It  does  not  matter.  I  am 
your  father's  wife,  Guy.  You  owe  me  at  least  some 
recognition  of  that  fact." 

"I  never  knew  my  father,"  I  said,  "except  as  the 
cause  of  my  own  miserable  upbringing  and  friendless 
life." 

"You  never  knew  him,"  she  answered,  "and  therefore 
you  believe  the  worst.  He  was  weak,  perhaps,  and, 
exposed  to  a  terrible  temptation,  he  fell!  But  he  was 
not  a  bad  man.    He  was  never  that." 


168  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,"  I  said,  strug- 
gling to  keep  my  voice  firm,  though  I  felt  myself 
trembling,  "that  this  is  a  profitable  discussion  for  either 
of  us?" 

"Why  not?"  she  exclaimed  almost  fiercely.  "You 
have  heard  his  story  from  enemies.  You  have  judged 
him  from  the  report  of  those  who  were  never  his 
friends.  He  sinned  and  he  repented.  Better  and  worse 
men  than  he  have  done  that.  If  he  were  wholly  bad,  do 
you  believe  that  after  all  these  years  I  should  care  for 
him  still?" 

I  held  my  peace.  The  woman  was  leaning  over 
towards  me  now.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  the  desire  to 
attract.  Her  voice  had  grown  sharper  and  less  pleas- 
ant, her  carefully  arranged  hair  was  in  some  disorder, 
and  the  telltale  blue  veins  by  her  temples  and  the  crow's 
feet  under  her  eyes  were  plainly  visible.  Her  face 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  pinched  and  wan,  the 
flaming  light  in  her  strangely  coloured  eyes  was  a  con- 
vincing assertion  of  her  earnestness.  She  was  not 
acting  now,  though  what  lay  behind  the  storm  I  could 
not  tell. 

"You  seem  afraid  to  talk  to  me,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Why  ?    I  have  done  you  no  harm !" 

"Perhaps  not,"  I  answered,  "yet  I  cannot  see  what 
we  gain  by  raking  up  this  miserable  history.  It  is 
both  painful  and  profitless." 

"I  will  say  no  more,"  she  declared,  with  a  sudden  note 
of  dignity  in  her  tone.  "I  can  see  that  I  am  judged 
already  in  your  mind.  After  all,  it  does  not  really 
matter.     No  one    likes  to    be  thought  worse  of    than 


MRS.     SMITH-LESSING  169 

they  deserve,  and  women  are  all — a  little  foolish.  But 
at  least  you  must  answer  me  one  question.  I  have  the 
right  to  ask  it.    You  must  tell  me  where  he  is." 

**Where  who  is.?"  I  asked. 

Again  her  eyes  flamed  upon  me.  Her  lips  parted  a 
little,  and  I  could  see  the  white  glimmer  of  her  teeth. 

"Oh,  you  shall  not  fence  with  me  like  a  baby!"  she 
exclaimed.  "Tell  me,  or  lie  to  me,  or  refuse  to  tell 
me!    Which  is  it.?" 

"Upon  my  honour,"  I  said,  looking  at  her  curiously, 
*'I  have  no  idea  whom  you  mean !" 

She  looked  at  me  steadily  for  several  moments,  her 
lips  parted,  her  breath  seeming  to  come  sharply  be- 
tween her  teeth. 

"I  mean  your  father,"  she  said.  "Whom  else  should 
I  mean?" 


CHAPTER  XX 
TWO    TO    ONE 

I   LOOKED  across  at  the  woman,  who  was  waiting 
my  answer  with  every  appearance   of   feverish 
interest. 
"What  should  I   know   about  him?"     I   said 
slowly.     "I  have  been  told  that  he  is  dead.     I  know 
no  more  than  that." 

She  started  as  though  my  words  had  stung  her. 

"It  is  not  possible!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  must  have 
heard  of  it.  When  he  left  me — it  was  less  than  three 
months  ago — ^he  seemed  better  than  I  had  known  him 
for  years." 

"All  my  life,"  I  said,  "I  have  understood  that  my 
father  died  by  his  own  hand  after  his  disgrace.  To- 
night for  the  first  time  I  was  told  that  this  was  not  the 
fact.  I  understood,  from  what  my  informant  said, 
that  he  had  died  recently." 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath  between  her  teeth,  and  sud- 
denly struck  the  cushioned  arm  of  the  carriage  by  her 
side  with  her  clenched  hand. 

"It  is  a  lie!"  she  declared,  "Whoever  told  you  so, 
it  is  a  lie !" 


TWO    TO    ONE  171 

*'Do  you  mean  that  he  is  not  dead?"  I.  exclaimed. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  have  not  seen  him  yourself 
— within  the  last  few  months?"  she  demanded  fiercely. 
"He  left  me  to  come  to  you  on  the  first  day  of  the  New 
Year." 

"I  have  never  seen  him  to  my  knowledge  in  my  life," 
I  answered. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  murmuring  something 
to  herself  which  I  could  not  catch.  Past-mistress  of 
deceit  though  she  may  have  been,  I  was  convinced  that 
her  consternation  at  my  statement  was  honest.  She 
did  not  speak  or  look  at  me  again  for  some  time.  As 
for  me,  I  sat  silent  with  the  horror  of  a  thought. 
Underneath  the  rug  my  limbs  were  cold  and  lifeless.  I 
sat  looking  out  of  the  rain-splashed  window  into  the 
darkness,  with  fixed  staring  eyes,  and  a  hideous  fancy 
in  my  brain.  Every  now  and  then  I  thought  that  I 
could  see  it — a  white  evil  face  pressed  close  to  the 
blurred  glass,  grinning  in  upon  me.  Every  shriek  of 
the  engine — and  there  were  many  just  then,  for  we 
were  passing  through  a  network  of  tunnels — brought 
beads  of  moisture  on  to  my  forehead,  made  me  start  and 
shake  like  a  criminal.  Surely  that  was  a  cry !  I  started 
in  my  seat,  only  to  see  that  my  companion,  now  her  old 
self  again,  was  watching  me  intently. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  said  softly,  "that  you  are  not  very 
strong.  The  excitement  of  talking  of  these  things 
has  been  too  much  for  you." 

"I  have  never  had  a  day's  illness  in  my  life,"  I  an- 
swered.    "I  am  perfectly  well." 

*'I  am  glad,"  she  said  simply.     "I  must  finish  what 


172  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  was  telling  you.  Your  father  was  continually  talking 
and  thinking  of  you.  He  knew  all  about  you  at  college. 
He  knew  about  your  degree,  of  your  cricket  and  row- 
ing. Lately  he  began  to  get  restless.  He  lost  sight 
of  you  after  you  left  Oxford,  and  it  worried  him. 
There  were  reasons,  as  you  know,  why  it  was  not  well 
for  him  to  come  to  England,  but  nevertheless  he  de- 
termined to  brave  it  out.  It  was  to  find  you  that  he 
risked  so  much.  He  left  me  on  New  Year's  Day,  and 
I  have  never  heard  a  word  from  him  since.  That  is 
why  I  came  to  England." 

*'The  whole  reason  ?"    I  asked,  like  a  fool. 

"The  whole  reason,"  she  affirmed  simply. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  my  father,"  I  said.  "If  he 
comes  to  me  I  shall  tell  him  so." 

"He  wants  to  tell  you  his  story  himself,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"I  would  never  listen  to  it,"  I  answered. 

She  sighed. 

"You  are  very  young,"  she  said.  "You  do  not  know 
what  temptation  is.  You  do  not  know  how  badly  he 
was  treated.  You  have  heard  his  history,  perhaps, 
from  his  enemies.  He  is  getting  old  now,  Guy. 
I  think  that  if  you  saw  him  now  you  would  pity 
him." 

"My  pity,"  I  answered,  "would  never  be  strong 
enough  to  suffer  me  to  open  the  door  to  him — if  he 
should  come.  He  has  left  me  alone  all  these  years. 
The  only  favour  I  would  ever  ask  of  him  would  be  that 
he  continues  to  do  so." 

"You  will  believe  the  story  of  strangers?" 


TWO    TO    ONE  173 

"No  one  in  the  world  could  be  a  greater  stranger  to 
me  than  he." 

She  sighed. 

"You  will  not  even  let  me  be  your  friend,"  she 
pleaded.  ^*You  are  young,  you  are  perhaps  ambitious. 
There  may  be  many  ways  in  which  I  could  help  you." 

"As  you  helped  my  father,  perhaps,"  I  answered 
bitterly.  "Thank  you,  I  have  no  need  of  friends — 
that  sort  of  friends." 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  narrow  a  little,  and  the  smile 
upon  her  lips  was  forced. 

"Is  that  kind  of  you?"  she  exclaimed.  "Your 
father  was  in  a  position  of  great  trust.  It  is  different 
with  you.  You  are  idle,  and  you  need  a  career.  Eng- 
land has  so  little  to  offer  her  young  men,  but  there  are 
other  countries " 

I  interrupted  her  brusquely. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "but  I  have  employment,  and 
such  ambitions  as  I  have  admit  of  nothing  but  an  hon- 
est career." 

Again  I  saw  that  contraction  of  her  eyes,  but  she 
never  winced  or  changed  her  tone. 

"You  have  employment.?"  she  asked,  as  though  sur- 
prised. 

"Yes.  As  you  doubtless  know,  I  am  in  the  service 
of  the  Duke  of  Rowchester,"  I  told  her. 

"It  is  news  to  me,"  she  replied.  "You  will  forgive 
me  at  least  for  being  interested,  Guy.  But  when  you 
say  in  the  service  of  the  Duke  of  Rowchester  you  puz- 
zle me.    In  England  what  does  that  mean  ?" 

"I  am  one  of  the  Duke's  secretaries,"  I  answered. 


174  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Is  the  Duke,  then,  a  politician  ?"  she  asked,  "that  he 
needs  secretaries?" 

"Not  at  all,"  I  answered  drily.  "His  Grace  is 
President  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals,  or  Children,  whichever  you  like.  We  have 
a  large  correspondence." 

She  picked  up  her  book. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  understand  you,"  she  said. 
"You  have  a  good  deal  of  the  brutality  of  youth,  Guy, 
and,  I  might  add,  of  its  credulity  also.  Whose  word 
is  it,  I  wonder,  that  you  have  taken  so  abjectly — with 
such  an  open  mouth?  If  I  have  enemies  I  have  not 
deserved  them.     But,  after  all,  it  matters  little." 

We  did  not  speak  again  until  we  neared  the  junction. 
Then  she  began  to  gather  up  her  things. 

"How  are  you  getting  home?"  she  asked.  "It  is  two 
o'clock,  and  raining." 

"I  am  going  to  walk,"  I  answered. 

'*But  that  is  absurd,"  she  protested.  *'I  have  a 
closed  carriage  here.  I  insist  that  you  let  me  drive  you. 
It  is  only  common  humanity ;  and  you  have  that  great 
box  too." 

I  buttoned  up  my  coat. 

"Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,"  I  said,  "you  perhaps  wish  to 
force  me  into  seeming  ungracious.  You  have  even 
called  me  brutal.  It  is  your  own  fault.  You  give  me 
no  chance  of  escape.  You  even  force  me  now  to  tell 
you  that  I  do  not  desire — that  I  will  not  accept — 
any  hospitality  at  your  hands." 

She  fastened  her  jacket  with  trembling  iSngers.  Her 
face  she  kept  averted  from  me. 


TWO    TO    ONE  175 

"Very  well,"  she  said  softly,  "I  shall  not  trouble  you 
any  more." 

At  the  junction  I  fetched  the  sleepy-looking  porter 
to  see  to  her  luggage,  and  then  left  her.  My  rug  I  left 
in  the  station-master's  office,  and  with  the  dispatch-box 
in  my  hand  I  climbed  the  steps  from  the  station,  and 
turned  into  the  long  straight  road  which  led  to  Braster. 
I  had  barely  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  a  small  motor 
brougham,  with  blazing  lights  and  insistent  horn,  came 
flying  past  me  and  on  into  the  darkness.  I  caught  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing's  pale  face 
as  the  car  flashed  by,  a  weird  little  silhouette,  come  and 
gone  in  a  second.  Away  ahead  I  saw  the  mud  and  rain 
from  the  pools  fly  up  into  the  air  in  a  constant  stream 
caught  in  the  broad  white  glare  of  the  brilliant  search- 
lamps.     Then  the  car  turned  a  corner  and  vanished. 

I  was  tired,  yet  I  found  the  change  from  the  close 
railway  carriage,  and  the  tension  of  the  last  few  hours, 
delightful.  The  road  along  which  I  trudged  ran 
straight  to  the  sea,  the  distant  roar  of  which  was 
already  in  my  ears,  and  the  wet  wind  which  blew  in 
my  face  was  salt  and  refreshing.  It  was  a  little  after 
two  in  the  morning,  and  the  darkness  would  have  been 
absolute,  but  for  a  watery  moon,  which  every  now  and 
then  gave  a  fitful  light.  For  a  mile  or  more  I  walked 
with  steady,  unflagging  footsteps.  Then  suddenly  I 
found  myself  slackening  my  pace.  I  walked  slower  and 
slower.     At  last  I  stopped. 

About  fifty  yards  farther  on  my  left  was  Braster 
Grange.  It  stood  a  little  way  back  from  the  road.  Its 
gardens  were  enclosed  by  a  thin  storm-bent  hedge,  just 


176  THE    BETRAYAL 

thick  enough  to  be  a  screen  from  the  road.  The  en- 
trance was  along  a  lane  which  branched  off  here 
from  the  main  road,  and  led  on  to  the  higher 
marshes,  and  thence  on  to  the  road  from  Braster 
village  to  Rowchester  and  my  cottage.  Straight 
on,  the  road  which  I  was  following  led  into 
Braster,  but  the  lane  to  the  left  round  past  the  Grange 
saved  me  fully  half  a  mile.  In  an  ordinary  way  I 
should  never  have  hesitated  for  a  moment  as  to  my 
route.  I  knew  every  inch  of  the  lane,  and  though  it  was 
rough  walking,  there  were  no  creeks  or  obstacles  of  any 
sort  to  be  reckoned  with.  And  yet,  as  I  neared  the 
comer,  I  came  to  a  full  stop.  As  I  stood  there  in  the 
road  I  felt  my  heart  beating,  I  seemed  possessed  by 
a  curious  nerve  failure.  My  breath  came  quickly.  I 
felt  my  heart  thumping  against  my  side.  I  stood  still 
and  listened.  Down  on  the  shingles  I  could  hear  the 
sea  come  thundering  in  with  a  loud  increasing  roar, 
dying  monotonously  away  at  regular  intervals.  I  could 
hear  the  harsh  grinding  of  the  pebbles,  the  backward 
swirl  of  long  waves  thrown  back  from  the  land.  I 
heard  the  wind  come  booming  across  the  waste  lands, 
rustling  and  creaking  amongst  the  few  stunted  trees  in 
the  grounds  of  Braster  Grange.  Of  slighter  sounds 
there  seemed  to  be  none.  The  village  ahead  was  dark 
and  silent,  the  side  of  the  house  fronting  the  road  was 
black  and  desolate.  It  was  a  lonely  spot,  a  lonely 
hour.  Yet  as  I  stood  there  shivering  with  nameless 
apprehensions,  I  felt  absolutely  certain  that  I  was  con- 
fronted by  some  hidden  danger. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  my  cour- 


TWO    TO    ONE  177 

age  returned.  I  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  cigar,  one 
of  a  handful  which  Ray  had  forced  upon  me.  Then  I 
crossed  stealthily  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  felt 
for  the  hedge.  I  pricked  my  hands  badly,  but  after 
feeling  about  for  some  moments  I  was  able  to  cut  for 
myself  a  reasonably  thick  stick.  With  this  in  my  right 
hand,  and  the  dispatch-box  under  my  left  arm  I  pro- 
ceeded on  my  way. 

I  walked  warily,  and  when  I  had  turned  into  the  lane 
which  passed  the  entrance  to  Braster  Grange  I  walked 
in  the  middle  of  it  instead  of  skirting  the  wall  which 
enclosed  the  grounds.  I  passed  the  entrance  gates,  and 
had  only  about  twenty  yards  farther  to  go  before  I 
emerged  upon  the  open  marshland.  Here  the  dark- 
ness was  almost  impenetrable,  for  the  lane  narrowed. 
The  hedge  on  the  left  was  ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  and 
on  the  right  were  two  long  barns.  I  clasped  my  stick 
tightly,  and  walked  almost  stealthily.  I  felt  that  if  I 
could  come  safely  to  the  end  of  these  bam  buildings 
I  could  afford  to  laugh  at  my  fears. 

Suddenly  my  strained  hearing  detected  what  I  had 
been  listening  for  all  the  time.  There  was  a  faint  but 
audible  rustling  in  the  shrubs  overgrowing  the  wall 
on  my  left.  I  made  a  quick  dash  forward,  tripped 
against  some  invisible  obstacle  stretched  across  the 
lane,  and  went  staggering  sideways,  struggling  to  pre- 
serve my  balance.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  two 
dark  forms  dropped  from  the  shelter  of  the  shrubs  on 
to  the  lane  by  my  side.  I  felt  the  soft  splash  of  a 
wet  cloth  upon  my  cheeks,  an  arm  round  my  neck,  and 
the  sickening  odour  of  chloroform  in  my  nostrils.    But 


178  THE    BETRAYAL 

already  I  had  regained  by  balance.  I  wrenched  my- 
self free  from  the  arm,  and  was  suddenly  blinded  by  the 
glare  of  a  small  electric  hand-light  within  a  foot  of  my 
face.  I  struck  a  sweeping  blow  at  it  with  my  stick,  and 
from  the  soft  impact  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  blow 
must  have  descended  upon  the  head  of  one  of  my^ 
assailants.  I  heard  a  groan,  and  I  saw  the  shadowy 
form  of  the  second  man  spring  at  me.  What  followed 
was  not,  I  believe,  cowardice  on  my  part,  for  my  blood 
was  up  and  my  sense  of  fear  gone.  I  dashed  my  stick 
straight  at  the  approaching  figure,  and  I  leaped  for- 
ward and  ran.  I  had  won  the  hundred  yards  and  the 
quarter  of  a  mile  at  Oxford,  and  I  was  in  fair  train- 
ing. I  knew  how  to  get  off  fast,  and  after  the  first 
dozen  yards  I  felt  that  I  was  safe.  The  footsteps  which 
had  started  in  pursuit  ceased  in  a  few  minutes. 
Breathless,  but  with  the  dispatch-box  safe  under  my 
arm,  I  sprinted  across  the  marsh,  and  never  paused  till 
I  reached  the  road.  Then  I  looked  back  and  listened. 
I  could  see  or  hear  nothing,  but  from  one  of  the  top 
rooms  in  the  Grange  a  faint  but  steady  light  was  shin- 
ing out. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
LADY    ANGELA    APPROVES 

IT  was  the  only  breath  of  fresh  air  which  I  had 
allowed  myself  all  the  morning,  though  the 
dazzling  sunlight  and  the  soft  west  wind  had 
tempted  me  all  the  time.  And  now,  as  ill  luck 
would  have  it,  I  had  walked  straight  into  the  presence 
of  the  one  person  in  the  world  whom  I  wished  most 
earnestly  to  avoid.  She  was  standing  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  her  hands  behind  her,  gazing  seawards,  and 
though  I  stopped  short  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  for  a 
moment  entertained  wild  thoughts  of  flight,  it  was  not 
possible  for  me  to  carry  them  out.  A  dry  twig 
snapped  beneath  my  feet,  and,  turning  quickly  round, 
she  had  seen  me. 

She  came  forward  at  once,  and  for  some  reason  or 
other  I  knew  that  she  was  glad.  She  smiled  upon  me 
almost  gaily. 

"So  this  sunshine  has  even  tempted  you  out.  Sir 
Hermit,"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  it  not  good  to  feel  the 
Spring  coming?" 

"Delightful,"  I  answered. 


180  THE    BETRAYAL 

She  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"How  pale  you  are !"  she  said.  "You  are  working  too 
hard,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

"I  came  down  from  London  by  the  mail  last  night," 
I  said.  "I  saw  Colonel  Ray — had  dinner  with  him, 
in  fact." 

She  nodded,  but  asked  me  no  questions. 

**I  think,"  she  said  abruptly,  "that  they  are  all  com- 
ing down  here  in  a  few  days.  I  heard  from  my  father 
this  morning." 

I  sighed. 

"I  have  been  very  unfortunate.  Lady  Angela,"  I 
said.  "Your  father  is  displeased  with  me.  I  think  that 
but  for  Colonel  Ray  I  should  have  been  dismissed  yes- 
terday." 

"Is  it  about — the  Prince  of  Malors?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Partly.     I  was  forced  to  tell  what  I  knew." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  she  turned  impul- 
sively toward  me. 

"You  were  right  to  tell  them,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said. 
*'I  have  hated  myself  ever  since  the  other  night  when 
I  seemed  to  side  against  you.  There  are  things  going 
on  about  us  which  I  cannot  fathom,  and  sometimes  I 
have  fears,  terrible  fears.  But  your  course  at  least  is 
a  clear  one.  Don't  let  yourself  be  turned  aside  by  any 
one.  My  father  has  prejudices  which  might  lead 
him  into  grievous  errors.  Trust  Colonel  Ray — no  one 
else.  Yours  is  a  dangerous  position,  but  it  is  a  splendid 
one.  It  means  a  career  and  independence.  If  there 
should  come  a  time  even ^** 


LADY    ANGELA    APPROVES        181 

She  broke  off  abruptly  in  her  speech.  I  could  see 
that  she  was  agitated,  and  I  thought  that  I  knew  the 
cause. 

"Lady  Angela,"  I  said  slowly,  "would  it  not  be  pos- 
sible for  you  and  Colonel  Ray  to  persuade  Lord  Blen- 
avon  to  go  abroad.""' 

She  swayed  for  a  moment  as  though  she  would  have 
fallen,  and  her  eyes  looked  at  me  full  of  fear. 

"You  think — that  it  would  be  better.?" 

"I  do." 

"It  would  break  my  father's  heart,"  she  murmured, 
*'if  ever  he  could  be  brought  to  believe  it." 

"The  more  reason  why  Lord  Blenavon  should  go,"  I 
said.  "He  is  set  between  dangerous  influences  here. 
Lady  Angela,  can  you  tell  me  where  your  brother  was 
last  night.?" 

"How  should  I.?"  she  answered  slowly.  "He  tells 
me  nothing." 

"He  was  not  at  home?" 

"He  dined  at  home.  I  think  that  he  went  out  after- 
wards." 

I  nodded. 

"And  if  he  returned  at  all,"  I  said,  "I  think  you 
will  find  that  it  was  after  three  o'clock." 

She  came  a  little  nearer  to  me,  although  indeed  we 
were  in  a  spot  where  there  was  no  danger  of  being 
overheard. 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Am  I  not  right.?"  I  asked. 

"He  did  not  return  at  all,"  she  answered.  "He  is 
not  home  yet.'* 


182  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  had  believed  from  the  first  that  Blenavon  was  one 
of  my  two  assailants.    Now  I  was  sure  of  it. 

*'When  he  does  come  back,"  I  remarked  grimly, 
"you  may  find  him  more  or  less  damaged." 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "you  must  explain  your- 
self." 

I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  not  do  so.  I  told  her 
the  story  of  my  early  morning  adventure.  She  listened 
with  quivering  lips. 

**You  were  not  hurt,  then?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"I  was  not  hurt,"  I  assured  her.    "I  was  fortunate." 

"Tell  me  what  measures  you  are  taking,"  she  begged. 

"What  can  I  do.?"  I  asked.  "It  was  pitch  dark, 
and  I  could  identify  no  one.  I  am  writing  Colonel 
Ray.    That  is  all." 

"That  hateful  woman,'*  she  murmured.  "Mr. 
Ducaine,  I  believe  that  if  Blenavon  is  really  concerned 
in  this,  it  is  entirely  through  her  influence." 

"Very  likely,"  I  answered.  "I  have  heard  strange 
things  about  her.     She  is  a  dangerous  woman.*' 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  Lady 
Angela,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  seawards,  suddenly 
turned  to  me. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  am  weary  of  all  these  bothers 
and  problems  and  anxieties.  Let  us  put  them  away 
for  one  hour  of  this  glorious  morning.  Dare  you  play 
truant  for  a  little  while  and  walk  on  the  sands  ?" 

"I  think  so,"  I  answered  readily,  "if  you  will  wait 
while  I  go  and  put  Grooton  in  charge." 

"I  will  be  scrambling  down,"  she  declared.  "It  is 
not  a  difficult  operation." 


LADY    ANGELA    APPROVES        183 

I  joined  her  a  few  minutes  later,  and  we  set  our  faces 
toward  the  point  of  the  bay.  Over  our  heads  the 
seagulls  were  lazily  drifting  and  wheeling,  the  quiet 
sea  stole  almost  noiselessly  up  the  firm  yellow  sands. 
Farther  over  the  marshes  the  larks  were  singing.  In- 
land, men  like  tiny  specks  in  the  distance  were  working 
upon  their  farms.  We  walked  for  a  while  in  silence^ 
and  I  found  myself  watching  my  companion.  Her 
head  was  thrown  slightly  back,  she  walked  with  all  the 
delightful  grace  of  youth  and  strength,  yet  there  was 
a  cloud  which  still  lingered  upon  her  face. 

"These,"  I  said  abruptly  "should  be  the  happiest 
days  of  your  life.  Lady  Angela.  After  all,  is  it  worth 
while  to  spoil  them  by  worrying  about  other  people's 
doings ,'"' 

"Other  people's  doings.'^"  she  murmured. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"Selfishness,  you  know,  is  the  permitted  vice  of  the 
young — and  of  lovers." 

"Blenavon  can  scarcely  rank  amongst  the  other 
people  with  me,"  she  said.  "He  is  my  only 
brother." 

"Colonel  Ray  is  to  be  your  husband,"  I  reminded 
her,  "which  is  far  more  important." 

She  turned  upon  me  with  flaming  cheeks. 

"You  do  not  understand  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  stiffly.  "Colonel  Ray  and  I 
are  not  lovers.  You  have  no  right  to  assume  anything 
of  the  sort." 

"If  you  are  not  lovers,"  I  said,  "what  right  have 
you  to  marry.?" 


184  THE    BETRAYAL 

She  seemed  a  little  staggered,  as  indeed  she  might 
be  by  my  boldness. 

*'You  are  very  mediaeval,"  she  remarked. 

"The  mediaeval  sometimes  survives.  It  is  as  true 
now  as  then  that  loveless  marriages  are  a  curse  and  a 
sin,*'  I  answered.  "It  is  the  one  thing  which  remains 
now  as  it  was  in  the  beginning." 

She  looked  at  me  furtively,  almost  timidly. 

**I  should  like  to  know  why  you  are  speaking  to  me 
like  this,"  she  said.  *'I  do  not  want  to  seem  unkind, 
but  do  you  think  that  the  length  of  our  acquaintance 
warrants  it.?" 

*'I  do  not  know  how  long  I  have  known  you,"  I  an- 
swered. "I  do  not  remember  the  time  when  I  did  not 
know  you.  You  are  one  of  those  people  to  whom  I  must 
say  the  things  which  come  into  my  mind.  I  think 
that  if  you  do  not  love  Colonel  Ray  you  have  no 
right  to  marry  him." 

She  looked  me  in  the  face.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  walking,  and  the  wind  had  blown  her  hair  into 
becoming  confusion. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "do  you  consider  that 
Colonel  Ray  is  your  friend?" 

"He  has  been  very  good  to  me,"  I  answered. 

"There  is  something  between  you  two.  What  is 
it?" 

"It  is  not  my  secret,"  I  told  her. 

"There  is  a  secret,  then,"  she  murmured.  "I  knew 
it.    Is  this  why  you  do  not  wish  me  to  marry  him  ?" 

"I  have  not  said  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  marry 
him,"  I  reminded  her. 


LADY    ANGELA    APPROVES        185 

*'Not  in  words.  You  had  no  need  to  put  it  into 
words." 

"You  are  very  young,"  I  said,  "to  marry  any  one 
for  any  other  reason  save  the  only  true  one.  Some  day 
there  might  be  some  one  else." 

She  watched  the  flight  of  a  seagull  for  a  few  mo- 
ments— watched  it  till  its  wings  shone  like  burnished 
silver  as  it  lit  upon  the  sun-gilded  sea. 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  she  said,  dreamily.  "I  have 
never  fancied  myself  caring  very  much  for  any  one.  It 
is  not  easy,  you  know,  for  some  of  us." 

"And  for  some,"  I  murmured,  "it  is  too  easy." 

She  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  she  had  no  suspicion 
as  to  the  meaning  of  my  words. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  something,"  she  said,  in  a 
few  minutes.  "Have  you  any  other  reason  beyond 
this  for  objecting  to  my  marriage  with  Colonel  Ray?" 

"If  I  have,"  I  answered  slowly,  **I  cannot  tell  it 
you.    It  is  his  secret,  not  mine." 

"You  are  mysterious !"  she  remarked. 

"If  I  am,"  I  objected,  "you  must  remember  that 
you  are  asking  me  strange  questions." 

"Colonel  Ray  is  too  honest,"  she  said,  thoughtfully, 
"to  keep  anything  from  me  which  I  ought  to  know." 

I  changed  the  conversation.  After  all  I  was  a  fool 
to  have  blundered  into  it.  We  talked  of  other  and 
lighter  things.  I  exerted  myself  to  shake  off  the  de- 
pression against  which  I  had  been  struggling  all  the 
morning.  By  degrees  I  think  we  both  forgot  some 
part  of  our  troubles.  We  walked  home  across  the 
sandhills,  climbing  gradually  higher  and  higher,  until 


186  THE    BETRAYAL 

we  reached  the  cliffs.  On  all  sides  of  us  the  coming 
change  in  the  seasons  seemed  to  be  vigorously  assert- 
ing itself.  The  plovers  were  crying  over  the  freshly- 
turned  ploughed  fields,  a  whole  world  of  wild  birds 
and  insects  seemed  to  have  imparted  a  sense  of  move- 
ment and  life  to  what  only  a  few  days  ago  had  been  a 
land  of  desolation,  a  country  silent  and  winterbound. 
Colour  was  asserting  itself  in  all  manner  of  places — in 
the  green  of  the  sprouting  grass,  the  shimmer  of  the 
sun  upon  the  sea-stained  sands,  in  the  silvery  blue  of 
the  Braster  creeks.  Lady  Angela  drew  a  long  breath 
of  content  as  we  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  summit  of 
the  cliffs. 

"And  you  wonder,"  she  murmured,  "that  I  left 
London  for  this!" 

"Yes,  I  still  wonder,"  I  answered.  "The  beauties 
of  this  place  are  for  the  lonely — I  mean  the  lonely 
in  disposition.  For  you  life  in  the  busy  places 
should  just  be  opening  all  her  fascinations.  It  is 
only  when  one  is  disappointed  in  the  more  human 
life  that  one  comes  back  to  Nature." 

"Perhaps  then,"  she  said,  a  little  vaguely,  "I  too 
must  be  suffering  from  disappointments.  I  have  never 
realized " 

We  had  taken  the  last  turn.  My  cottage  was  in 
sight.  To  my  surprise  a  man  was  standing  there  as 
though  waiting.  He  turned  round  as  we  approached. 
His  face  was  very  pale,  and  the  back  of  his  head  was 
bandaged.  He  carried  his  arm,  too,  in  a  sling.  It 
was  Colonel  Mostyn  Ray ! 


CHAPTER  XXII 
MISS  MOYAT  MAKES  A   SCENE 

RAY  was  smoking  his  customary  enormous 
pipe,  which  he  deliberately  emptied  as 
Lady  Angela  and  I  approached.  The  sight 
of  him  and  the  significance  of  his  wounds 
reduced  me  to  a  state  of  astonishment  which  could  find 
no  outlet  in  words.  I  simply  stood  and  stared  at  him. 
Lady  Angela,  however,  after  her  first  exclamation  of 
surprise,  went  up  and  greeted  him. 

"Why,  my  dear  Mostyn,"  she  exclaimed,  *'wherever 
have  you  sprung  from,  and  what  have  you  been  doing 
to  yourself.''" 

"I  came  from  London — newspaper  train,"  he 
answered. 

"And  your  head  and  arm?" 

"Thrown  out  of  a  hansom  last  night,"  he  said 
grimly. 

We  were  all  silent  for  a  moment.  So  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  speech  was  altogether  beyond  me.  Lady 
Angela,  too,  seemed  to  find  something  disconcerting 
in  Ray's  searching  gaze. 


188  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Mj  welcome,"  he  remarked  quietly,  "does  not  seem 
to  be  overpowering." 

Lady  Angela  laughed,  but  there  was  a  note  of 
unreality  in  her  mirth. 

"You  must  expect  people  to  be  amazed,  Mostyn," 
she  said,  "if  you  treat  them  to  such  surprises.  Of 
course  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Have  you  seen  Blen- 
avon  yet.f*" 

"I  have  not  been  to  the  house,"  he  answered.  "I 
came  straight  here." 

"And  your  luggage  .f*"  she  asked. 

**Lost,"  he  answered  tersely.  "I  only  just  caught 
the  train,  and  the  porter  seems  to  have  missed  me." 

"You  appear  to  have  passed  through  a  complete 
chapter  of  mishaps,"  she  remarked.  "Never  mind! 
You  must  want  your  lunch  very  badly,  or  do  you  want 
to  talk  to  Mr.  Ducaine?" 

"Next  to  the  walk  up  to  the  house  with  you,"  he 
answered,  "I  think  that  I  want  my  lunch  more  than 
anjdhing  in  the  world." 

Lady  Angela  smiled  her  farewells  at  me,  and  Ray 
nodded  curtly.  I  watched  them  pass  through  the  plan- 
tation and  stroll  across  the  Park.  There  was  nothing 
very  loverlike  in  their  attitude.  Ray  seemed  scarcely 
to  be  glancing  towards  his  companion ;  Lady  Angela 
had  the  air  of  one  absorbed  in  thought.  I  watched 
them  until  they  disappeared,  and  then  I  entered  my  own 
abode  and  sat  down  mechanically  before  the  lunch 
which  Grooton  had  prepared.  I  ate  and  drank  as  one 
in  a  dream.  Only  last  night  Ray  had  said  nothing 
about  coming  to  Braster.     Yet,  there  he  was,  without 


MISS  MOYAT  MAKES   A   SCENE   189 

luggage,  with  his  arm  and  head  bound  up.  Just  like 
this  I  expected  to  see  the  man  whom  I  had  struck  last 
night. 

Now  though  Ray's  attitude  towards  me  was  often 
puzzling,  an  absolute  faith  in  his  honesty  was  the  one 
foundation  which  I  had  felt  solid  beneath  my  feet  dur- 
ing these  last  few  weeks  of  strange  happenings.  This 
was  the  first  blow  which  my  faith  had  received,  and  I 
felt  that  at  any  cost  I  must  know  the  truth.  After  lunch 
I  finished  the  papers  which,  when  complete,  it  was  my 
duty  to  lock  away  in  the  library  safe  up  at  the  house, 
and  secured  them  in  my  breast-pocket.  But  instead  of 
going  at  once  to  the  house  I  set  out  for  Braster 
Junction. 

There  was  a  porter  there  whom  I  had  spoken  to  once 
or  twice.     I  called  him  on  one  side. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "what  passengers  there 
were  from  London  by  the  newspaper  train  this 
morning?" 

"None  at  all,  sir,"  the  man  answered  readily. 

"Are  you  quite  sure?"  I  asked. 

The  man  smiled. 

*'I'ra  more  than  sure,  sir,'*  the  man  answered,  "be- 
cause she  never  stopped.  She  only  sets  down  by  signal 
now,  and  we  had  the  message  *no  passengers'  from 
Wells.    She  went  through  here  at  forty  miles  an  hour.'* 

"I  was  expecting  Colonel  Ray  by  that  train,"  I 
remarked,  "the  gentleman  who  lectured  on  the  war, 
you  know,  at  the  Village  Hall." 

The  man  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"Why,  he  came  down  last  night,  same  train  as  you. 


190  THE    BETRAYAL 

sir.  I  know,  because  he  only  got  out  just  as  the  train 
was  going  on,  and  he  stepped  into  the  station  master's 
house  to  light  his  pipe." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  giving  the  man  a  shilling.  "I 
must  have  just  missed  him,  then." 

I  left  the  station  and  walked  home.  Now,  indeed, 
all  my  convictions  were  upset.  Colonel  Ray  had  left 
me  outside  his  clubhouse  last  night,  twenty  minutes 
before  the  train  started,  without  a  word  of  coming  to 
Braster.  Yet  he  travelled  down  by  the  same  train, 
avoided  me,  lied  to  Lady  Angela  and  myself  this  morn- 
ing, and  had  exactly  the  sort  of  wounds  which  I  had 
inflicted  upon  that  unknown  assailant  who  attacked  me 
in  the  darkness.  If  circumstantial  evidence  went  for 
anything,  Ray  himself  had  been  my  aggressor. 

I  avoided  the  turn  by  Braster  Grange  and  went 
straight  on  to  the  village.  Coming  out  of  the  post 
office  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  Blanche  Moyat. 
She  held  out  her  hand  eagerly. 

*'Were  you  coming  in?"  she  asked. 

*'Well,  not  to-day,"  I  answered.  "I  am  on  my  way 
to  Rowchester,  and  I  am  late  already." 

She  kept  by  my  side. 

*'Come  in  for  a  few  moments,"  she  begged,  in  a  low 
tone.    "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

*'Not  the  old  subject,  I  hope,"  I  remarked. 

She  looked  around  with  an  air  of  mystery. 

*'Do  you  know  that  some  one  is  making  inquiries 
about — ^that  man?'* 

"I  always  thought  it  possible,"  I  answered,  **that 
his  friends  might  turn  up  some  time  or  other." 


MISS  MOYAT  MAKES  A   SCENE   191 

We  were  opposite  the  front  of  the  Moyats'  house. 
She  opened  the  door  and  beckoned  me  to  follow.  I 
hesitated,  but  eventually  did  so.  She  led  the  way  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  carefully  closed  the  door  after 
us. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "I  mean  it,  really.  There 
is  some  one  in  the  village  making  inquiries — about — 
the  man  who  was  found  dead." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "that  is  not  very  surprising,  is  it? 
His  friends  were  almost  certain  to  turn  up  sooner  or 
later." 

"His  friends !  But  do  you  know  who  it  is  ?"  she 
asked. 

I  sank  resignedly  into  one  of  Mrs.  Moyat's  wool- 
work covered  chairs.  An  absurd  little  canary  was  sing- 
ing itself  hoarse  almost  over  my  head.  I  half  closed  my 
eyes.  How  many  more  problems  was  I  to  be  confronted 
with  during  these  long-drawn-out  days  of  mystery  ? 

"Oh,  I  do  not  know,"  I  declared.  "I  am  sure  I  da 
not  care.  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  asked  you  for  one 
moment  to  keep  your  counsel  about  the  fellow.  I  never 
saw  him,  I  do  not  know  who  he  was,  I  know  nothing 
about  him.  And  I  don't  want  to.  Miss  Moyat.  He  may 
have  been  prince  or  pedlar  for  anything  I  care." 

"Well,  he  wasn't  an  ordinary  person,  after  all,"  she 
declared,  with  an  air  of  mystery.  "Have  you  heard  of 
the  lady  who's  taken  Braster  Grange?  She's  a  friend 
of  Lord  Blenavon's.     He's  always  there." 

"I  have  heard  that  there  is  such  a  person,"  I  an- 
swered wearily. 

"She's    been    making    inquiries   right   and   left— 


192  THE    BETRAYAL 

everywhere.  There*s  a  notice  in  yesterday's  Wells 
Gazette,  and  a  reward  of  fifty  pounds  for  any  one  who 
can  give  any  information  about  him  suflScient  to  lead 
to  identification." 

"If  you  think,"  I  said,  "that  you  can  earn  the 
pounds,  pray  do  not  let  me  stand  in  your  way." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  fixed  intentness  which  I 
found  peculiarly  irritating. 

"You  don't  think  that  I  care  about  the  fifty  pounds," 
she  said,  coming  over  and  standing  by  my  chair. 

"Then  why  take  any  notice  of  the  matter  at  all.'"' 
I  said.  "All  that  you  can  disclose  is  that  he  came  from 
the  land  and  not  from  the  sea,  and  that  he  asked 
where  I  lived.  Why  trouble  yourself  or  me  about  the 
matter  at  all.''  There  really  isn't  any  necessity.  Some 
one  else  probably  saw  him  besides  you,  and  they  will 
soon  find  their  way  to  this  woman." 

"It  was  only  to  me,"  she  murmured,  "that  he 
spoke  of  you." 

"Do  you  believe,"  I  asked,  "that  I  murdered  him.?" 

She  shuddered. 

**No,  of  course  I  don't,"  she  declared. 

**Then  why  all  this  nervousness  and  mystery?"  I 
asked.  "I  have  no  fear  of  anything  which  might  hap- 
pen.   Why  should  you  be  afraid.'*" 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  she  said  slowly,  "but  there  is 
something  about  it  which  I  do  not  understand.  Ever 
since  that  morning  you  have  avoided  me." 

"Nonsense!"  I  exclaimed. 

"It  is  not  nonsense,"  she  answered.  "It  is  the  truth. 
You  used  to  come  sometimes  to  see  father — and  now  you 


MISS  MOYAT  MAKES   A   SCENE   193 

never  come  near  the  place.  It  is — too  bad  of  you," 
she  went  on,  with  a  little  sob.  "I  thought  that  after 
that  morning,  and  my  promising  to  do  what  you  asked, 
that  we  should  be  greater  friends  than  ever.  Instead  of 
that  you  have  never  been  near  us  since.  And  I  don't 
care  who  knows  it.     I  am  miserable." 

She  was  leaning  against  the  arm  of  my  chair.  It 
was  clearly  my  duty  to  administer  the  consolation 
which  the  situation  demanded.  I  realized,  however, 
that  the  occasion  was  critical,  and  I  ignored  her 
proximity. 

"Miss  Moyat,"  I  said,  "I  am  sorry  if  asking  you 
to  tell  that  harmless  little  fib  has  made  you  miserable. 
I  simply  desired " 

"It  isn't  altogether  that,"  she  interrupted.  "You 
know  it  isn't." 

"You  give  me  credit  for  greater  powers  of  divination 
than  I  possess,"  I  answered  calmly.  "Your  father  was 
always  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  can  assure  you  that  I 
have  not  forgotten  it.  But  I  have  work  to  ^o  now, 
and  I  have  scarcely  an  hour  to  spare.  Mr.  Moyat 
would  understand  it,  I  am  sure." 

The  door  was  suddenly  opened.  Mrs.  Moyat,  fat 
and  comely,  came  in.  She  surveyed  us  both  with  a 
friendly  and  meaning  smile,  which  somehow  made  my 
cheeks  burn.  It  was  no  fault  of  mine  that  Blanche 
had  been  hanging  over  my  chair. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad  to  see 
you  once  more,  Mr.  Ducaine.  Such  a  stranger  as  you 
are  too!  But  you  don't  mean  to  sit  in  here  without  a 
fire  all  the  afternoon,  I  suppose,  Blanche.    Tea  is  just 


194  THE    BETRAYAL 

ready  in  the  dining-room.  Bring  Mr.  Ducaine  along, 
Blanche." 

I  held  out  my  hand. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  stop,  Mrs.  Moyat,"  I  said. 
*'Good-afternoon,  Miss  Moyat." 

She  looked  me  in  the  eyes. 

**You  are  not  going,"  she  murmured. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  answered,  "that  it  is  imperative. 
I  ought  to  have  been  at  Rowchester  long  ago.  We  are 
too  near  neighbours,  though,  not  to  see  something  of 
one  another  again  before  long." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  there's  no  need  to  hurry  so,"  Mrs. 
Moyat  declared,  backing  out  of  the  room.  "Blanche, 
you  see  if  you  can't  persuade  Mr.  Ducaine.  Father'!! 
be  home  early  this  evening,  too." 

"I  think,"  Blanche  said,  "that  Mr.  Ducaine  has 
made  up  his  mind." 

She  walked  with  me  to  the  hall  door,  but  she  de- 
clined to  shake  hands  with  me.  Her  appearance  was 
little  short  of  tragic.  I  think  that  at  another  time  I 
might  have  been  amused,  for  never  in  my  life  had  I 
spoken  more  than  a  few  courteous  words  to  the  girl. 
But  my  nerves  were  all  on  edge,  and  I  took  her 
seriously.  I  walked  down  the  street,  leaving  her  stand- 
ing in  the  threshold  with  the  door  open  as  though 
anxious  to  give  me  a  chance  to  return  if  I  would.  I 
looked  back  at  the  corner,  and  waved  my  hand.  There 
was  something  almost  threatening  in  the  grim  irrespon- 
sive figure,  standing  watching  me,  and  making  no  pre- 
tence at  returning  my  farewell — watching  me  with 
steady  eyes  and  close-drawn  brows. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 
MOSTYN  RAY  EXPLAINS 

I  WALKED  straight  to  the  House,  and  locked  up 
my  papers  in  the  great  safe.  I  had  hoped  to 
escape  without  seeing  either  Ray  Or  Lady  Angela, 
but  as  I  crossed  the  hall  they  issued  from  the 
billiard-room.  Lady  Angela  turned  towards  me 
eagerly. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  exclaimed,  "have  you  seen  any- 
thing of  Lord  Blenavon  to-day  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  have  not  seen  him  for  several  days.  Lady  Angela," 
I  answered. 

Ray  said  something  to  her  which  I  could  not  hear. 
She  nodded  and  left  us  together. 

"It  seems,"  he  said,  "that  this  amiable  young  gen- 
tleman is  more  or  less  in  the  clutches  of  our  siren  friend 
at  Braster  Grange.  I  think  that  you  and  I  had  better 
go  and  dig  him  out." 

"Thank  you,"  I  answered,  "but  I  had  all  I  wanted 
of  Braster  Grange  last  night." 

"Pooh !"  he  answered  lightly,  **you  are  not  even 
scratched.      They   are   clumsy   conspirators   there.      I 


196  THE    BETRAYAL 

think  that  you  and  I  are  a  match  for  them.  Come 
along !" 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  "but  I 
have  no  desire  to  visit  Braster  Grange,  even  with  you." 

Lady  Angela,  whose  crossing  the  hall  had  been  noise- 
less, suddenly  interposed. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said;  "but 
this  is  no  visit  of  courtesy,  is  it.''  I  am  sure  that  my 
brother  would  never  stay  there  voluntarily.  Something 
must  have  happened  to  him." 

"We  will  go  and  see,"  Ray  declared.  "Come  along, 
Ducaine." 

I  hesitated,  but  a  glance  from  Lady  Angela  settled 
the  matter.  For  another  such  I  would  have  walked  into 
hell.  Ray  and  I  started  off  together,  and  I  was  not 
long  before  I  spoke  of  the  things  which  were  in  my 
mind. 

"Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  "when  I  saw  you  this  morning 
you  made  two  statements,  both  of  which  were  false." 

Ray  brought  out  his  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it  in 
leisurely  fashion. 

"Go  on,"  he  said.     "What  were  they  ?" 

"The  first  was  that  you  had  come  down  from  London 
by  the  newspaper  train  this  morning,  and  the  second 
was  that  you  had  received  your  injuries  in  a  hansom 
cab  accident." 

His  pipe  was  started,  and  he  puffed  out  dense  vol- 
umes of  smoke  with  an  air  of  keen  enjoyment. 

"Worst  of  having  a  woman  for  your  hostess,"  he  re- 
marked, "one  can't  smoke  except  a  sickly  cigarette  or 
two.     You  should  take  to  a  pipe,  Ducaine." 


MOSTYN  RAY  EXPLAINS  197 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  those  two  mis- 
statements, Colonel  Ray?" 

"Lies,  both  of  them !"  he  answered,  with  grim  cheer- 
fulness. "Rotten  lies,  and  I  hate  telling  'em.  The 
hansom  cab  accident  must  have  sounded  a  bit  thin." 

"It  did,"  I  assured  him. 

He  removed  his  pipe  from  his  teeth,  and  pushed 
down  the  tobacco  with  the  end  of  his  finger. 

"I  came  down  from  town  by  the  same  train  that  you 
did,"  he  said,  "and  as  for  my  broken  head  and  smashed 
arm,  you  did  it  yourself." 

"I  imagined  so,"  I  answered.  "Perhaps  you  will 
admit  that  you  owe  me  some  explanation." 

He  laughed,  a  deep  bass  laugh,  and  looked  down  at 
me  with  a  gleam  of  humour  in  his  black  eyes. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I  think  that  the  boot  is  on  the 
other  leg.  My  head  is  exceedingly  painful  and  my 
leg  is  very  stiff.  For  a  young  man  of  your  build  you 
have  a  most  surprising  muscle." 

**I  am  to  understand,  then,  that  it  was  you  who  com- 
mitted an  unprovoked  assault  upon  me — who  planned 
to  have  me  waylaid  in  that  dastardly  fashion .''" 

"Do  you  think,"  Ray  asked  quietly,  "that  I  should 
be  such  a  damned  fool.''" 

"What  am  I  to  think,  then,  what  am  I  to  believe.''"  I 
asked,  with  a  sudden  anger.  "You  found  me  starving, 
and  you  gave  me  employment,  but  ever  since  I  started 
my  work  life  has  become  a  huge  ugly  riddle.  Are  you 
my  friend  or  my  enemy?  I  do  not  know.  There  is  a 
drama  being  played  out  before  my  very  eyes.  The 
figures  in  it  move  about  me  continually,  yet  I  alone  am 


198  THE    BETRAYAL 

blindfolded.  I  am  trusted  to  almost  an  incredible  ex- 
tent. Great  issues  are  confided  to  me.  I  have  been 
given  such  a  post  as  a  man  might  work  for  a  lifetime 
to  secure.  Yet  where  a  little  confidence  would  give  me 
zest  for  my  work — would  take  away  this  horrible  sense 
of  moving  always  in  the  darkness — it  is  withheld  from 
me." 

Ray  smoked  on  in  silence  for  several  moments. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  sure  that  you  are  al- 
together unreasonable.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
must  not  forget  that  there  is  method,  and  a  good  deal 
of  it,  in  the  very  things  of  which  you  complain.  There 
are  certain  positions  in  which  a  man  may  find  himself 
where  a  measure  of  ignorance  is  a  blessed  thing.  Be- 
lieve me,  that  if  you  understood,  your  difficulties  would 
increase  instead  of  diminish." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"But  between  3'^ou  and  me  at  least,  Colonel  Ray,"  I 
said,  "there  is  a  plain  issue.  You  can  explain  the  events 
of  last  night  to  me." 

"I  will  do  that,"  he  answered,  "since  you  have  asked 
it.  Briefly,  then,  I  parted  from  you  on  the  steps  of  my 
club  at  a  few  minutes  past  nine  last  night." 

"Yes!" 

"I  saw  from  the  moment  we  appeared  that  you  were 
being  watched.  I  saw  the  man  who  was  loitering  on  the 
pavement  lean  over  to  hear  the  address  you  gave  to 
the  cabman,  and  you  were  scarcely  away  before  he  was 
following  you.  But  it  was  only  just  as  he  drove  by, 
leaning  a  little  forward  in  his  hansom,  that  I  saw  his 
face.     I  recognized  him  for  one  of  that  woman's  most 


MOSTYN  RAY  EXPLAINS  199 

dangerous  confederates,  and  I  knew  then  that  some 
villainy  was  on  foot.  To  cut  a  long  story  short,  I  came 
down  unobserved  in  your  train,  followed  you  to  Braster 
Grange,  and  was  only  a  yard  or  two  behind  when  this 
fellow,  who  acts  as  the  woman's  chauffeur,  sprang  out 
upon  you.  I  was  unfortunately  a  little  two  quick  to  the 
rescue,  and  received  a  smash  on  the  head  from  your  stick. 
Then  you  bolted,  and  I  found  myself  engaged  with  a 
pair  of  them.  On  the  whole  I  think  that  they  got  the 
worst  of  it." 

"The  other  one — was  Lord  Blenavon!"  I  exclaimed. 

"It  was." 

"Then  he  is  concerned  in  the  plots  which  are  going 
on  against  us,"  I  continued.  "I  felt  certain  of  it. 
What  a  blackguard !" 

"For  his  sister's  sake,"  Colonel  Ray  said  softly,  "I 
want  to  keep  him  out  of  it  if  I  can.  Therefore  I  hit 
him  a  little  harder  than  was  necessary.  He  should  be 
hors  de  combat  for  some  time." 

"But  why  didn't  you  cry  out  to  me.'*"  I  said.  "I 
should  not  have  run  if  I  had  known  that  I  had  an  ally 
there." 

"To  run  was  exactly  what  I  wanted  you  to  do,"  Ray 
answered.  "You  had  the  dispatch-box,  and  I  wanted  to 
see  you  safe  away." 

I  glanced  at  his  bandaged  head  and  arm. 

"I  suppose  that  I  ought  to  apologize  to  you,"  I 
said. 

"Under  the  circumstances,"  he  declared,  "we  will  cry 
quits." 

Then  as  we  walked  together  in  the  glittering  spring 


200  THE    BETRAYAL 

sunshine,  this  big  silent  man  and  I,  there  came  upon  me 
a  swift,  poignant  impulse,  the  keener  perhaps  because 
of  the  loneliness  of  my  days,  to  implore  him  to  unravel 
all  the  things  which  lay  between  us.  I  wanted  the  story 
of  that  night,  of  my  concern  in  it,  stripped  bare. 
Already  my  lips  were  opened,  when  round  the  corner  of 
the  rough  lane  by  which  Braster  Grange  was  ap- 
proached on  this  side  came  a  doctor's  gig.  Ray 
shaded  his  eyes  and  gazed  at  its  occupant. 

"Is  this  Bouriggs,  Ducaine.'"'  he  asked,  "the  man 
who  shot  with  us  ?" 

"It  is  Dr.  Bouriggs,"  I  answered. 

Ray  stopped  the  gig  and  exchanged  greetings  with 
the  big  sandy-haired  man,  who  held  a  rein  in  each  hand 
as  though  he  were  driving  a  market  wagon.  They 
chatted  for  a  moment  or  two,  idly  enough,  as  it  seemed 
to  me. 

"Any  one  ill  at  the  Grange,  doctor?"  Ray  asked  at 
length. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"I  have  just  come  from  there,"  he  answered.  "There 
is  nothing  very  seriously  wrong." 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  Lord  Blenavon  is  there.''"  Ray 
asked. 

The  doctor  hesitated. 

"It  was  hinted  to  me,  Colonel  Ray,"  he  said,  "that 
my  visit  to  the  Grange  was  not  to  be  spoken  of.  You 
will  understand,  of  course,  that  the  etiquette  of  our  pro- 
fession  " 

"Quite  right,"  Ray  interrupted.  "The  fact  is.  Lady 
Angela  is  very  anxious  about  her  brother,  who  did  not 


MOSTYN  RAY  EXPLAINS  201 

return  to  Rowchester  last  night,  and  she  has  sent  us  out 
as  a  search  party.  Of  course,  if  you  were  able  to  help 
us  she  would  be  very  gratified." 

The  doctor  hesitated. 

"The  Duke  and,  in  fact,  all  the  family  have  always 
been  exceedingly  kind  to  me,"  he  remarked,  looking 
straight  between  his  horse's  ears.  "Under  the  circum- 
stances you  mention,  if  you  were  to  assert  that  Lord 
Blenavon  was  at  Braster  Grange  I  do  not  think  that  I 
should  contradict  you." 

Ray  smiled. 

"Thank  you,  doctor,"  he  said.     "Grood  morning." 

The  doctor  drove  on,  and  we  pursued  our  way. 

"It  was  a  very  dark  night,"  Ray  said,  half  to  him- 
self, "but  if  Blenavon  was  the  man  I  hit  he  ought  to 
have  a  cracked  skull." 

After  all,  our  interrogation  of  the  doctor  was  quite 
unnecessary.  We  were  admitted  at  once  to  the  Grange 
by  a  neatly-dressed  parlour-maid.  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing 
was  at  home,  ..ic»  che  girl  did  not  for  a  moment  seem  to 
doubt  her  mistress's  willingness  to  receive  us.  As  she 
busied  herself  poking  the  fire  and  opening  wider  the 
thick  curtains,  Ray  asked  her  another  question. 

*'Do  you  know  if  Lord  Blenavon  is  here.'"' 

**Yes,  sir,"  the  arirl  answered  promptly.  *'He  was 
brought  in  last  night  rather  badly  hurt,  but  he  is  much 
better  this  morning.  I  will  let  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  know 
that  you  are  here,  sir." 

She  hurried  out,  with  the  rustle  of  stiff  starch  and 
the  quick  hght-footedness  of  the  well-trained  servant. 
Ray  and  I  exchanged  glances. 


202  THE    BETRAYAL 

"After  all,  this  is  not  such  a  home  of  mystery  as  we 
expected,"  I  remarked. 

"Apparently  not,"  he  answered.  "The  little  woman 
is  playing  a  bold  game." 

Then  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  came  in. 


"  '  Get  in,'  he  said,  in  a  low  suppressed  tone." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
LORD  BLENAVON'S   SURRENDER 

SHE  came  in  very  quietly,  a  little  pale  and  wan 
in  this  cold  evening  light.  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  me  with  a  subdued  but  charming 
smile  of  welcome. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come  to  see  me,"  she 
said  softly.  "You  can  help  me,  too,  about  this  unfor- 
tunate young  man  who  has  been  thrown  upon  my 
hands.    I " 

Then  she  saw  Ray,  and  the  words  seemed  to  die  away 
upon  her  lips.  I  had  to  steel  my  heart  against  her 
to  shut  out  the  pity  which  I  could  scarcely  help  feeling. 
She  was  white  to  the  lips.  She  stood  as  one  turned  to 
stone,  with  her  distended  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  It  was 
like  a  trapped  bird,  watching  its  impending  fate. 
She  faltered  a  little  on  her  feet,  and — I  could  not  help 
it — I  hurried  to  her  side  with  a  chair.  As  she  sank 
into  it  she  thanked  me  with  a  very  plaintive  smile. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "I  am  not  very 
strong,  and  I  did  not  know  that  man  was  with  you.'* 

Ray  broke  in.  His  voice  sounded  harsh,  his  manner, 
I  thought,  was  unnecessarily  brutal. 


204  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  can  understand,"  he  said,  "that  you  find  my  pres- 
ence a  little  unwelcome.  I  need  scarcely  say  that  this 
is  not  a  visit  of  courtesy.  You  know  very  well  that 
willingly  I  would  never  spend  a  moment  under  the 
same  roof  as  you.  I  am  here  to  speak  a  few  plain 
words,  to  which  you  will  do  well  to  listen." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  Her  courage  seemed  to 
be  returning  at  the  note  of  battle  in  his  tone.  Her 
small,  well-shaped  head  was  thrown  back.  The  hands 
which  grasped  the  sides  of  her  chair  ceased  to  tremble. 

"Go  on,"  she  said. 

"We  will  not  play  at  cheap  diplomacy,"  he  said, 
sneeringly.  *'I  know  you  by  a  dozen  names,  which  you 
alter  and  adopt  to  suit  the  occasion.  You  are  a 
creature  of  the  French  police,  one  of  those  parasitical 
creatures  who  live  by  sucking  the  honesty  out  of 
simpler  persons.  You  are  here  because  the  more  private 
meetings  of  the  English  Council  of  Defence  are  being 
held  at  Rowchester.  It  is  your  object  by  bribery,  or 
theft,  or  robbery,  or  the  seductive  use  of  those  wonder- 
ful charms  of  yours,  to  gain  possession  of  copies  of  any 
particulars  whatever  about  the  English  autumn  man- 
oeuvres, which,  curiously  enough,  have  been  arranged  as 
a  sort  of  addendum  to  those  on  your  side  of  the  Channel. 
You  have  an  ally,  I  regret  to  say,  in  the  Duke's  son, 
you  are  seeking  to  gain  for  yourself  a  far  more  valuable 
one  in  the  person  of  this  boy.  You  say  to  yourself,  no 
doubt,  Like  father,  like  son.  You  ruined  and  disgraced 
the  one.    You  think,  perhaps,  the  other  will  be  as  easy.'* 

"Stop !"  she  cried. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.     Her  face  was  drawn 


LORD   BLENAVON'S   SURRENDER    205 

with  pain.  In  her  eyes  was  the  look  of  a  being  stricken 
to  death. 

"It  is  terrible !"  she  murmured,  "that  men  so  coarse 
Rnd  brutal  as  you  should  have  the  gift  of  speech.  I  do 
riot  wish  to  ask  for  any  mercy  from  you,  but  if  I  am  to 
rtay  here  and  listen,  you  will  speak  only  of  facts." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 

"You  should  be  hardened  by  this  time,"  he  said, 
•'but  I  forgot  that  we  had  an  audience.  "It  is  always 
ivorth  while  to  play  a  little  to  the  gallery,  isn't  it? 
Well,  facts,  then.  The  boy  is  warned  against  you,  and 
from  to-day  this  house  is  watched  by  picked  detectives, 
Blenavon  can  avail  you  nothing,  for  he  knows  nothing. 
Such  clumsy  schemes  as  last  night's  are  foredoomed  to 
failure,  and  will  only  get  you  into  trouble.  You  will 
*raste  your  time  here.     Take  my  advice,  and  go !" 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  Smaller  and  frailer  than  ever 
fihe  seemed,  as  she  stood  before  Ray,  dark  and  massive. 

"Your  story  is  plausible,"  she  said  coldly.  "It  may 
even  be  true.  But,  apart  from  that,  I  had  another  and 
a  greater  reason  for  coming  to  England,  for  coming 
to  Braster.  I  came  to  seek  my  husband — the  father 
of  this  boy.    I  am  even  now  in  search  of  him." 

I  held  my  breath  and  gazed  at  Ray.  For  the  mo- 
ment it  seemed  as  though  the  tables  were  turned.  No 
signs  of  emotion  were  present  in  his  face,  but  he 
seemed  to  have  no  words.    He  simply  looked  at  her. 

"He  left  me  in  January,"  she  continued,  "deter- 
mined at  least  to  have  speech  with  his  son.  He  heard 
then  for  the  first  time  of  the  absconding  trustee.  He 
came  to  England,  if  not  to  implore  his  son's  forgive- 


206  THE    BETRAYAL 

ness,  at  least  to  place  him  above  want.  And  in  this 
country  he  has  never  been  heard  of.  He  has  disap- 
peared. I  am  here  to  find  him.  Perhaps,"  she  added, 
leaning  a  little  over  towards  Ray,  and  in  a  slightly 
altered  tone,  "perhaps  you  can  help  me  .'*" 

Again  it  seemed  to  me  that  Ray  was  troubled  by  a 
certain  speechlessness.  When  at  last  he  found  words, 
they  and  his  tone  were  alike  harsh,  almost  violent. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  would  stretch  out 
the  little  finger  of  my  hand  to  help  you  or  him?  You 
know  very  well  that  I  would  not.  The  pair  of  you,  in 
my  opinion,  were  long  since  outside  the  pale  of  con- 
sideration from  any  living  being.  If  he  is  lost,  so 
much  the  better.  If  he  is  dead,  so  much  the  better 
still." 

"It  is  because  I  know  how  you  feel  towards  him," 
she  said,  slowly,  "that  I  wondered — yes,  I  wondered!" 

"Well?" 

"Whether  you  could  not,  if  you  chose,  solve  for  me 
the  mystery  of  his  disappearance." 

There  was  as  much  as  a  dozen  seconds  or  so  of  tense 
silence  between  them.  She  never  once  flinched.  The 
cold  question  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  burn  its  way  into  the 
man's  composure.  A  fierce  exclamation  broke  from  his 
lips. 

"If  he  were  dead,"  he  said,  "and  if  it  were  my  hand 
which  had  removed  him,  I  should  count  it  amongst  the 
best  actions  of  my  life." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously — as  one  might  regard  a 
wild  beast. 

"You  can  speak  like  this  before  his  son  ?" 


LORD   BLENAVON'S   SURRENDER   207 

**I  veil  my  words  at  no  time  and  for  no  man,"  he 
answered.    "The  truth  is  always  best.*' 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  Blenavon  entered.  His 
arm  and  head  were  bandaged,  and  he  walked  with  a 
limp.  He  was  deathly  pale,  and  apparently  very  ner- 
vous. He  attempted  a  casual  greeting  with  Ray,  but 
it  was  a  poor  pretence.  Ray,  for  his  part,  had  evi- 
dently no  mind  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

"Lord  Blenavon,"  he  said,  "this  house  is  no  i5t  place 
for  your  father's  son.  I  have  warned  you  before,  but 
the  time  for  advice  is  past.  Your  hostess  here  is  a 
creature  of  the  French  police,  and  her  business  here  is 
to  suborn  you  and  others  whom  she  can  buy  or  cajole 
into  a  treasonable  breach  of  confidence.  It  is  very  pos- 
sible that  you  know  all  this,  and  more.  But  I  appeal 
to  you  as  an  Englishman  and  the  representative  of  a 
great  English  family.  Are  you  willing  to  leave  at 
once  with  us  and  to  depart  altogether  from  this  part 
of  the  country,  or  will  you  face  the  consequences.?" 

Blenavon  was  a  coward.  He  shook  and  stammered. 
He  was  not  even  master  of  his  voice. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  faltered.  "You  have 
no  right  to  speak  to  me  like  this." 

"Right  or  no  right,  I  do,"  Ray  answered.  **If  you 
refuse  I  shall  not  spare  you.  Last  night  was  only  one 
incident  of  many.  I  break  my  faith  as  a  soldier  by  giv- 
ing you  this  opportunity.    Will  you  come  ?" 

"I  am  waiting  now  for  a  carriage,"  Blenavon  an- 
swered.   **I  have  sent  to  the  house  for  one." 

"You  will  not  return  to  the  house,"  Ray  said  shortly. 
"You  will  leave  here  for  the  station,  the  station  for 


208  THE    BETRAYAL 

London,  and  London  for  the  Continent.  You  do  this, 
and  I  hold  my  peace.  You  refuse,  and  I  see  Lord 
Chelsford  and  your  father  to-night." 

From  the  first  I  knew  that  he  would  yield,  but  he  did 
it  with  an  ill  grace. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  go,"  he  said,  sulkily. 

"Either  you  and  I  together,  or  I  alone,  are  going 
to  catch  the  six  o'clock  train  to  London,"  Ray  said. 
"If  I  go  alone  you  will  be  an  exile  from  England  for 
the  rest  of  your  life,  your  name  will  be  removed  from 
every  club  to  which  you  belong,  and  you  will  have 
brought  irreparable  disgrace  upon  your  family.  The 
choice  is  yours." 

Blenavon  turned  towards  the  woman  as  though  for 
aid.  But  she  stood  with  her  back  to  him,  pale  and  with 
a  thin  scornful  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"The  choice,"  Ray  repeated,  glancing  at  his  watch, 
"is  yours,  but  the  time  is  short." 

"I  will  go,"  Blenavon  said.  "I  was  off  in  a  day  or 
two,  anyway.  Of  what  you  suspect  me  I  don't  know, 
and  I  don't  care.     But  I  will  go." 

Ray  put  his  watch  into  his  pocket.  He  turned  to 
Mrs.  Smith-Lessing. 

"Better  come  too,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  have  no 
more  chance  here.  Every  one  knows  now  who  and  what 
you  are." 

She  looked  at  him  with  white  expressionless  face. 

*'It  does  not  suit  me  to  leave  the  neighbourhood  at 
present,"  she  said  calmly. 

If  she  had  been  a  man  Ray  would  have  struck  her, 
I  could  see  his  white  teeth  clenched  fiercely  together. 


LORD   BLENAVON'S   SURRENDER    209 

"It  does  not  suit  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  vibrate 
with  suppressed  passion,  "to  have  you  here.  You  are 
a  plague  spot  upon  the  place.  You  have  been  a  plague 
spot  all  your  life.  Whatever  you  touch  you  cor- 
rupt." 

She  shrank  away  for  a  moment.  After  all,  she  was 
a  woman,  and  I  hated  Ray  for  his  brutality. 

"What  a  butcher  you  are !"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
curiously.  "If  ever  you  should  marry — God  help  the 
woman." 

"There  are  women  and  women,"  he  answered 
roughly.  "As  for  you,  you  do  not  count  in  the  sex 
at  all." 

She  turned  away  from  him  with  a  little  shudder, 
and  for  the  first  time  during  the  interview  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  avoid 
speech. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "do  you  agree?  Will  you  leave 
this  place?  I  promise  you  that  your  schemes  here  at 
any  rate  are  at  an  end." 

She  turned  to  me.  Perhaps  something  In  my  face 
had  spoken  the  sympathy  which  I  could  not  wholly 
suppress. 

"Guy,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  be  rid  of  this  man, 
because  every  word  he  speaks — hurts.  But  I  cannot 
even  look  at  him  any  more.  At  this  war  of  words  he 
has  won.  I  am  beaten.  I  admit  it.  I  am  crushed.  I 
am  not  going  away.  I  spoke  truthfully  when  I  said 
that  I  came  to  England  in  search  of  your  father.  We 
may  both  of  us  be  the  creatures  that  man  would  have 
you  believe,  but  we  have  been  husband  and  wife  for 


glO  THE    BETRAYAL 

eighteen  years,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  find  out  what  has 
become  of  him.    Therefore  I  stay." 

I  could  see  Ray's  black  eyes  flashing.  He  almost 
gripped  my  arm  as  he  drew  me  away.  We  three  left 
the  house  together.  At  the  bottom  of  the  drive  we  met 
a  carriage  sent  down  from  Rowchester.  Ray  stopped  it. 

"Blenavon  and  I  will  take  this  carriage  to  the  sta- 
tion," he  said.  "Will  you,  Ducaine,  return  to  Lady 
Angela  and  tell  her  exactly  what  has  happened?" 

"Oh,  come,  I'm  not  going  to  have  that,"  Blenavon 
exclaimed. 

"It  will  not  be  unexpected  news,"  Ray  said  sternly. 
'*your  sister  suspects  already." 

*'I'm  not  going  to  be  bundled  away  and  leave  you  to 
concoct  any  precious  story  you  think  fit,"  Blenavon 
declared,  doggedly.     "I " 

Ray  opened  the  carriage  door  and  gripped  Blen- 
avon's  arm. 

"Get  in,"  he  said  in  a  low,  suppressed  tone. 

There  was  something  almost  animal  in  the  fury  of 
Ray's  voice.  I  looked  away  with  a  shudder.  Blen- 
avon stepped  quietly  into  the  carriage.  Then  Ray 
came  over  to  me,  and  as  he  looked  searchingly  into  my 
face,  he  pointed  up  the  carriage  drive. 

"Boy,"  he  said,  "you  are  young,  and  in  hell  itself 
there  cannot  be  many  such  as  she.  You  think  me 
brutal.     It  is  because  I  remember — your  mother!" 

He  stepped  into  the  carriage.  I  turned  round  and 
set  out  for  Rowchester. 


CHAPTER   XXV 
MY    SECRET 

THERE  followed  for  me  another  three  days  of 
unremitting  work.  Then  midway  through 
one  morning  I  threw  my  pen  from  me  with 
a  great  sense  of  rehef .  They  might  come 
or  send  for  me  when  they  chose.  I  had  finished.  Mv 
eyes  were  hot  and  my  brain  weary.  Instinctively  I 
threw  open  my  front  door,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
sun  and  the  wind  and  the  birds  were  calling. 

So  I  walked  northwards  down  on  the  beach,  across 
the  grass-sprinkled  sandhills  and  the  mud-bottomed 
marshes.  I  walked  with  my  cap  stuffed  in  my  pocket, 
my  head  bared  to  the  freshening  wind,  and  all  the  way 
I  met  no  living  creature.  As  I  walked,  my  thoughts, 
which  had  been  concentrated  for  these  last  few  days 
upon  my  work,  went  back  to  that  terrible  half -hour  at 
Braster  Grange.  I  thought  of  Ray.  I  realized  now 
that  for  days  past  I  had  been  striving  not  to  think  of 
him.  The  man's  sheer  brutality  appalled  me.  I  be- 
lieved in  him  now  wholly,  I  believed  at  least  in  his  hon- 
esty, his  vigorous  and  trenchant  loyalty.  But  the  ways 
of  the  man  were  surely  brutal  to  torture  even  vermin 


212  THE    BETRAYAL 

caught  in  the  trap,  and  that  woman,  adventuress 
though  she  might  be,  had  flinched  before  him  in  agony, 
as  though  her  very  nerves  were  being  hacked  out  of  her 
body.  And  Blenavon,  too!  Surely  he  might  have  re- 
membered that  he  was  her  brother.  He  might  have 
helped  him  to  retain  just  a  portion  of  his  self-respect. 
Was  he  as  severe  on  every  measure  of  wrong-doing  ?  I 
fancied  to  myself  the  meeting  on  that  lonely  road  be- 
tween the  poor  white-faced  creature  who  had  looked  in 
upon  my  window,  and  this  strong  merciless  man. 
Warmed  with  exercise  as  I  was,  I  shivered.  Ray  re- 
minded me  of  those  grim  figures  of  the  Old  Testament. 
An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  life  for  a  life,  were  precepts  with 
him  indeed.  He  was  as  inexorable  as  Fate  itself.  I 
feared  him,  and  I  knew  why.  I  feared  him  when  I 
thought  of  Angela,  almost  over-sensitive,  so  delicate  a 
flower  to  be  held  in  his  strong,  merciless  grasp.  I  walked 
faster  and  faster,  for  thoughts  were  crowding  in  upon 
me.  Such  a  tangled  web,  such  bitter  sweetness  as  they 
held  for  me.  These  were  the  thoughts  which  in  those 
days  it  was  the  struggle  of  my  life  to  keep  from  coming 
to  fruition.  I  knew  very  well  that,  if  once  I  gave  way  to 
them,  flight  alone  could  save  me.  For  the  love  of  her 
was  in  my  nerves,  in  every  beat  of  my  pulse,  a  wild  and 
beautiful  dream,  against  which  I  was  fighting  always  a 
hopeless  battle. 

Far  away,  coming  towards  me  along  the  sands,  I  saw 
her.  I  stopped  short.  For  a  moment  my  heart  was  hot 
with  joy,  then  I  looked  wildly  around,  thinking  of  flight. 
It  was  not  possible.  Already  she  had  seen  me.  She 
waved  her  hand  and  increased  her  pace,  walking  with 


MY    SECRET  21S 

the  swift  effortless  grace  of  her  beautiful  young  limbs, 
her  head  thrown  back,  a  welcoming  smile  already  part- 
ing her  lips.  I  set  my  teeth  and  prepared  myself  for 
the  meeting.  Afterwards  would  come  the  pain,  but  for 
the  present  the  joy  of  seeing  her,  of  being  with  her, 
was  everything!     I  hastened  forward, 

"I  could  not  stay  indoors,"  she  said,  as  she  turned 
by  my  side,  "although  I  have  an  old  aunt  and  some  very 
uninteresting  visitors  to  entertain.  Besides,  I  have 
news !  My  father  is  coming  down  to-day,  and  I  think 
some  of  the  others.     We  have  just  had  a  telegram." 

"I  am  glad,"  I  answered.  "I  have  just  finished  my 
work,  and  I  want  some  more." 

"You  are  insatiable,"  she  declared,  smiling.  "You 
have  written  for  three  days,  days  and  nights  too,  I  be- 
lieve, and  you  look  like  a  ghost.  You  ought  to  take  a 
rest  now.     You  ought  to  want  one,  at  any  rate." 

Then  the  smile  faded  from  her  lips,  and  the  anxiety 
of  a  sudden  thought  possessed  her. 

"I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  Colonel  Ray,"  she 
said.  "It  terrifies  me  to  think  that  he  may  have  told 
my  father  about  Blenavon." 

"You  must  insist  upon  it  that  he  does  not,"  I  declared. 
"Your  brother  has  left  England,  has  he  not?" 

"He  is  at  Ostend." 

"Then  Colonel  Ray  will  keep  his  word,"  I  assured  her. 
"Besides,  you  have  written  to  him,  have  you  not?" 

"I  have  written,"  she  answered.  "Still,  I  am  afraid. 
He  will  do  what  he  thinks  right,  whatever  it  may  be." 

"He  will  respect  your  wishes,"  I  said. 

She  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 


2U  THE    BETRAYAL 

"He  is  not  an  easy  person  to  influence,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  doubt  whether  my  wishes,  even  my  prayers, 
would  weigh  with  him  a  particle  against  his  own  judg- 
ment.    And  he  is  severe — very  severe." 

I  said  nothing,  and  we  walked  for  some  time  in 
silence. 

"Next  week,"  she  said  abruptly,  "I  must  go  back  to 
London." 

It  was  too  sudden !  I  could  not  keep  back  the  little 
exclamation  of  despair.  She  walked  for  some  time  with 
her  head  turned  away  from  me,  as  though  something 
on  the  dark  clear  horizon  across  the  waters  had  fas- 
cinated her,  but  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  and 
I  knew  that  my  secret  had  escaped  me.  Whether  I  was 
glad  or  sorry  I  could  not  tell.  My  thoughts  were  all  in 
hopeless  confusion.  When  she  spoke,  there  was  a  cer- 
tain reserve  in  her  tone.  I  knew  that  things  would 
never  again  be  exactly  the  same  between  us.  Yet  she 
was  not  angry !  I  hugged  that  thought  to  myself.  She 
was  startled  and  serious,  but  she  was  not  angry. 

"One  season  is  very  much  like  another,"  she  said,  "but 
it  is  not  possible  to  absent  oneself  altogether.  Then 
afterwards  there  is  Cowes  and  Homburg,  and  I  always 
have  a  plan  for  at  least  three  weeks  in  Scotland.  I  be- 
lieve we  shall  close  Rowchester  altogether." 

"The  Duke.?"  I  asked. 

"He  never  spends  the  summer  here,"  she  answered. 
**We  are  generally  together  after  July,  so  perhaps,"  she 
added,  "you  may  have  to  endure  more  of  my  company 
than  you  think." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  faint,  provoking  smile.  How 


MY    SECRET  S15 

dare  she?  I  was  master  of  myself  now,  and  I  answered 
her  coldly. 

"I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  leave  here,"  I  said.  "I  hope 
if  my  work  lasts  so  long  that  I  shall  be  able  to  go  on 
with  it  at  the  'Brand.'  " 

She  made  no  answer  to  that,  but  in  a  moment  or  two 
she  turned  and  looked  at  me  thoughtfully. 

"You  are  rather  a  surprising  person,"  she  remarked, 
**in  many  ways.  And  you  certainly  have  strange 
tastes." 

"Is  it  a  strange  taste  to  love  this  place?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course  not.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  strange 
that  you  should  be  content  to  remain  here  indefinitely. 
Solitude  is  all  very  well  at  times,  but  at  your  age  I  think 
that  the  vigorous  life  of  a  great  city  should  have  many 
attractions  for  you.  Life  here,  after  all,  must  become 
something  of  an  abstraction." 

"It  contents  me,"  I  declared  shortly. 

"Then  I  am  not  sure  that  you  are  in  an  altogether 
healthy  frame  of  mind,"  she  answered,  coolly.  "Have 
you  no  ambitions?" 

"Such  as  I  have,"  I  muttered,  "are  hopeless.  They 
were  built  on  sand — and  they  have  fallen." 

"Then  reconstruct  them,"  she  said.  "You  are  far  too 
young  to  speak  with  such  a  note  of  finality." 

*'Some  day,"  I  answered,  "I  suppose  I  shall.  At  pres- 
ent I  am  content  to  live  on  amongst  the  fragments.  One 
needs  only  imagination.  The  things  one  dreams  about 
are  always  more  beautiful  and  perhaps  more  satisfying 
than  the  things  one  does." 

Again  our  eyes  met,  and  I  fancied  that  this  time  she 


«16  THE    BETRAYAL 

was  looking  a  little  frightened.  At  any  rate  she  knew. 
I  was  sure  of  that. 

**What  an  ineifective  sort  of  proceeding!"  she  mur- 
mured. 

A  creek  separated  us  for  a  few  minutes.  When  we 
came  together  again  I  asked  her  a  question. 

"There  is  something,  Lady  Angela,"  I  said,  "which, 
if  you  would  forgive  the  impertinence  of  it,  I  should 
very  much  like  to  ask  you." 

She  moved  her  head  slowly,  as  though  giving  a  tacit 
consent.  But  I  do  not  think  that  she  was  quite  prepared 
for  what  I  asked  her. 

**When  are  you  going  to  marry  Colonel  Ray?" 

She  looked  at  me  quickly,  almost  furtively,  and  I 
saw  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed.  There  was  a  look  in 
her  eyes,  too,  which  I  could  not  fathom. 

"The  date  is  not  decided  yet,"  she  said.  "You  know 
there  is  some  talk  of  trouble  in  Egypt,  and  if  so  he 
might  have  to  leave  at  a  moment's  notice." 

"It  will  not  be,  at  any  rate,  before  the  autumn,  then?" 
I  persisted. 

"No !" 

I  drew  a  little  breath  of  relief.  I  was  reckless 
whether  she  heard  it  or  not.     Suddenly  she  paused. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  asked. 

I  recognized  him  at  once — a  small  grey  figure,  stand- 
ing on  the  top  of  a  sandhill  a  little  way  off,  and  regard- 
ing us  steadily.     It  was  the  Duke. 

"Your  father!"  I  said. 

We  quickened  our  pace.  If  Lady  Angela  was  in  any 
way    discomposed   she   showed   no    signs    of    it.     She 


MY    SECRET  217 

waved  her  hand,  and  the  Duke  solemnly  removed  hi» 
hat. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  he  has  come  down  before  the 
others,"  she  said.  "I  am  longing  to  have  a  talk  with 
him.  And  I  don't  believe  he  knows  anything  about 
Blenavon.     No,  he's  far  too  cheerful." 

She  went  straight  up  to  him  and  passed  her  arm 
through  his.  He  greeted  me  stiffly,  but  not  un- 
kindly. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come,"  she  said.  "If  I 
had  not  heard  I  should  have  telegraphed  to  you.  I've 
seen  it  in  all  the  papers." 

"You  approve.'"'  I  heard  him  ask  quietly. 

"Approve  is  not  the  word,"  she  declared  eagerly.  **It 
is  magnificent." 

"I  wonder,"  he  asked,  "if  you  realize  what  it  means.?" 

"It  simply  doesn't  matter,"  she  answered,  with  a  de- 
lightful smile.  "I  can  make  my  own  dresses,  if  you 
like.     Annette  is  a  shocking  nuisance  to  me." 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  remarked,  with  an  odd  little  smile,, 
"that  Blenavon  will  scarcely  regard  the  matter  in  the 
same  light." 

"Bother  Blenavon!"  she  answered  hghtly.  "I  sup- 
pose you  know  that  he's  gone  off  abroad  somewhere?" 

"I  had  a  hurried  line  from  him  with  information  to 
that  effect,"  the  Duke  answered.  "I  think  that  it  would 
have  been  more  respectful  if  he  had  called  to  see  me  on 
his  way  through  London." 

I  heard  her  sigh  of  relief. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  she  begged,  "where  shall  we  begin? 
Cowes,  Homburg,  town  house,  or  Annette  ?    I'm  ready ."^ 


218  THE    BETRAYAL 

The  Duke  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  I  had  never 
seen  him  look  at  any  living  person. 

*'You  must  not  exaggerate  to  yourself  the  im- 
portance of  this  affair,  Angela,"  he  said.  "I  do  not 
think  we  need  interfere  for  the  present  with  any  exist- 
ing arrangements." 

She  took  his  arm,  and  they  walked  on  ahead  to  the 
clearing  in  front  of  my  cottage,  talking  earnestly  to- 
gether. I  had  no  clue  to  the  meaning  of  those  first  few 
sentences  which  had  passed  between  them.  And  need- 
less to  say,  I  now  lingered  far  enough  behind  to  be  out 
of  earshot.  When  they  reached  the  turn  in  the  path 
they  halted  and  waited  for  me. 

"I  am  anxious  for  a  few  minutes'  conversation  inside 
with  you,  Ducaine,"  the  Duke  said.  "Angela,  you  had 
better  perhaps  not  wait  for  me." 

She  nodded  her  farewell,  a  brief  imperious  httle 
gesture,  it  seemed  to  me,  with  very  little  of  kindliness  in 
it.  Then  the  Duke  followed  me  into  my  sitting-room. 
I  waited  anxiously  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
**NOBLESSE    OBLIGE*^ 

THE  Duke  selected  my  most  comfortable  easy 
chair  and  remained  silent  for  several  min- 
utes, looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Notwithstanding  the  fresh  colour, 
which  he  seldom  lost,  and  the  trim  perfection  of  his 
dress,  I  could  see  at  once  that  there  was  a  change  in 
him.  The  lines  about  his  mouth  were  deeper,  his  eyes 
had  lost  much  of  their  keen  brightness.  I  found  my- 
self wondering  whether,  after  all,  some  suspicion  of 
Lord  Blenavon's  doings  had  found  its  way  to  him. 

"You  are  well  forward  with  your  work,  I  trust,  Mr. 
Ducaine?"  he  said  at  last. 

"It  is  completed,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

**The  proposed  subway  fortifications  as  well  as  the 
new  battery  stations?" 

"Yes,  your  Grace." 

"What  about  the  maps?" 

"I  have  done  them  also  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  sir," 
I  answered.  "I  am  not  a  very  expert  draughtsman,  I 
am  afraid,  but  these  are  at  least  accurate.  If  you 
would  care  to  look  them  over,  they  are  in  the  library 
safe." 


220  THE    BETRAYAL 

"And  the  code  word?" 

In  accordance  with  our  usual  custom  I  scribbled  it 
upon  a  piece  of  paper,  and  held  it  for  a  moment  before 
his  eyes.     Then  I  carefully  destroyed  it. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  "perhaps  to-night,  we  have 
some  railway  men  coming  down  to  thoroughly  discuss 
the  most  efficient  method  of  moving  troops  from  Alder- 
shot  and  London  to  different  points,  and  to  inaugurate 
a  fresh  system.  You  had  better  hold  yourself  in  readi- 
ness to  come  up  to  the  house  at  any  moment.  They 
are  business  men,  and  their  time  is  valuable.  They  will 
probably  want  to  work  from  the  moment  of  their  arrival 
until  they  go." 

"Very  good,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  me  for  a  moment 
reflectively. 

"You  remember  our  conversation  at  the  War  Office, 
Mr.  Ducaine.?" 

"Yes,  your  Grace." 

*'I  do  not  wish  you  to  have  a  false  impression  as  to 
my  meaning  at  that  time,"  he  said  coldly.  "I  do  not, 
I  have  never,  doubted  your  trustworthiness.  My  feel- 
ing was,  and  is,  that  you  are  somewhat  young  and  of  an 
impetuous  disposition  for  a  post  of  such  importance. 
That  feeling  was  increased,  of  course,  by  the  fact  that 
I  considered  your  story  with  reference  to  the  Prince  of 
Malors  improbable  to  the  last  degree.  In  justice  to 
you,"  he  continued  more  slowlj',  "I  must  now  admit 
the  possibility  that  your  description  of  that  incident 
may  after  all  be  in  accordance  with  the  facts.  Certain 
facts  have  come  to  my  knowledge  which  tend  somewhat 


''NOBLESSE    OBLIGE''  221 

in  that  direction.  I  shall  consider  it  a  favour,  there- 
fore, if  you  will  consider  my  remarks  at  that  interview 
retracted." 

"I  thank  your  Grace  very  much,"  I  answered. 

"With  reference  to  the  other  matter,"  he  continued, 
"there  my  opinion  remains  unaltered.  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  papers  in  the  safe  were  touched  after  you 
yourself  deposited  them  there,  and  I  consider  your 
statement  to  the  contrary  a  most  unfortunate  one.  But 
the  fact  remains  that  you  have  done  your  work  faith- 
fully, and  the  Council  is  satisfied  with  your  services. 
That  being  so,  you  may  rely  upon  it  that  any  feeling" 
I  may  have  in  the  matter  I  shall  keep  to  my- 
self." 

I  would  have  expressed  my  gratitude  to  him,  but  he 
checked  me. 

"There  is,"  he  said,  "one  other,  a  more  personal  mat- 
ter, concerning  which  I  desired  a  few  words  with  you. 
I  have  had  a  visit  from  a  relative  of  yours  who  is  also 
an  old  friend  of  my  own.  I  refer  to  Sir  Michael 
Trogoldy." 

I  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  I  was,  in  fact,  so 
surprised  that  I  said  nothing  at  all. 

"Sir  Michael,  it  seems,  has  been  making  inquiries 
about  you,  and  learned  of  your  present  position,"  the 
Duke  continued.  *'He  asked  me  certain  questions  which 
I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  answer  on  your  behalf.  He 
also  entrusted  me  with  a  note,  which  I  have  here  in  my 
pocket." 

He  produced  it  and  laid  it  upon  the  table.  I  made 
no  movement  to  take  it. 


222  THE    BETRAYAL 

"The  details  of  your  family  history,"  the  Duke  said, 
"are  unknown  to  me.  But  if  the  advice  of  an  old  man 
is  in  any  way  acceptable  to  you,  I  should  strongly 
recommend  you  to  accept  any  offer  of  friendship  which 
Sir  Michael  may  make.  He  is  an  old  man,  and  he  is 
possessed  of  considerable  wealth.  Further,  I  gather 
that  you  are  his  nearest  relative." 

"Sir  Michael  was  very  cruel  to  my  mother,  sir,"  I 
said  slowly. 

"You  have  nothing  to  gain  by  the  harbouring  of 
ancient  grievances,"  the  Duke  replied.  "I  have  always 
known  Sir  Michael  as  a  just  if  a  somewhat  stem  man. 
Please,  however,  do  not  look  upon  me  in  any  way  as 
a  would-be  mediator.  My  interest  in  this  matter  ceases 
with  the  delivery  of  that  letter." 

The  Duke  rose  to  his  feet.  I  followed  him  to  the 
door. 

"In  any  case,  sir,"  I  said,  "I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  your  advice  and  for  bringing  me  this 
letter." 

"By-the-bye,"  the  Duke  said,  pausing  on  the  thresh- 
old, "I  fear  that  we  may  lose  the  help  of  Colonel  Ray 
upon  the  Council.  There  are  rumours  of  serious 
trouble  in  the  Soudan,  and  if  these  are  in  any  way 
substantiated,  he  will  be  certainly  sent  there.  Good 
afternoon,  Mr.  Ducaine." 

"Good  afternoon,  your  Grace." 

So  he  left  me,  stiff,  formal,  having  satisfied  his  con- 
science, though  I  felt  in  my  heart  that  his  opinion  of 
me,  once  formed,  was  not  likely  to  be  changed. 
Directly  I  was  alone  I  opened  my  uncle's  letter. 


'*NOBLESSE    OBLIGE''  9,9.^ 

"127,  Gkosvenor  Square, 

"London,  W. 
**DEAa  Guy, — 

"It  has  been  on  my  mind  more  than  once  during  the 
last  few  years — ever  since,  in  fact,  I  heard  of  you  at 
college — to  write  and  inform  myself  as  to  your  pros- 
pects in  life.  You  are  the  son  of  my  only  sister,  al- 
though I  regret  to  say  that  you  are  the  son  also  of  a 
man  who  disgraced  himself  and  his  profession.  You 
have  a  claim  upon  me  which  you  have  made  no  effort 
to  press.  Perhaps  I  do  not  think  the  worse  of  you  for 
that.  In  any  case,  I  wish  you  to  accept  an  allowance 
of  which  my  lawyers  will  advise  you,  and  if  you  will 
call  upon  me  when  you  are  in  town  I  shall  be  glad  to 
make  your  acquaintance.  I  may  say  that  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  learn  that  you  have  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining a  responsible  and  honourable  post. 

**I  am,  yours  sincerely, 
"Michael  Teogoldy." 

I  took  pen  and  paper,  and  answered  this  letter  at 
once. 

"My  dear  Sir  Michael, — 

"As  I  am  your  nephew,  and  I  understand,  almost 
your  nearest  relative,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
accept  the  allowance  which  you  are  good  enough  to 
offer  me.  I  shall  also  be  glad  to  come  and  see  you  next 
time  I  am  in  London,  if  it  is  your  wish. 

"Yours  sincerely, 
"Guy  Ducaine." 

Grooton  brought  in  my  tea,  also  a  London  morning 
paper  which  he  had  secured  in  the  village. 


524  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  thought  that  you  might  be  interested  in  the  news 
about  the  Duke,  sir,"  he  said  respectfully. 

"What  news,  Grooton?"  I  asked,  stretching  out  Tiy 
hand  for  the  paper. 

"You  will  find  a  leading  article  on  the  second  page, 
sir,  and  another  in  the  money  news.  It  reads  quite 
extraordinary,  sir." 

I  opened  the  paper  eagerly.  I  read  every  word  of 
the  leading  article,  which  was  entitled  "Noblesse 
Oblige,"  and  all  the  paragraphs  in  the  money  column. 
What  I  read  did  not  surprise  me  in  the  least  when  once 
I  had  read  the  circumstances.  It  was  just  what  I  should 
have  expected  from  the  Duke.  It  seemed  that  he  had 
lent  his  name  to  the  prospectus  of  a  company  fonned 
for  the  purpose  of  working  some  worthless  patent 
designed  to  revolutionize  the  silk  weaving  trade.  The 
Duke's  reason  for  going  on  the  Board  was  purely 
philanthropic.  He  had  hoped  to  restore  an  ancient  in- 
dustry in  a  decaying  neighbourhood.  The  whole  thing 
turned  out  to  be  a  swindle.  One  angry  shareholder 
stated  plainly  at  the  meeting  that  he  had  taken  his 
shares  on  account  of  the  Duke's  name  upon  the  pros- 
pectus, and  hinted  ugly  things.  The  Duke  had  risen 
calmly  in  his  place.  He  assured  them  that  he  fully 
recognized  his  responsibilities  in  the  matter.  If  the 
person  who  had  last  spoken  was  in  earnest  when  he 
stated  that  the  Duke's  name  had  induced  him  to  take 
shares  in  this  company,  then  he  was  prepared  to  relieve 
him  of  those  shares  at  the  price  which  he  had  paid  for 
them.  Further,  if  there  was  any  other  persons  who 
were  able  honestly  to  say  that  the  name  of  the  Duke  of 


^'NOBLESSE    OBLIGE''  225 

Rowchester  upon  the  prospectus  had  induced  them  to 
invest  their  money  in  this  concern,  his  offer  extended 
also  to  them. 

There  were  roars  of  applause,  wild  enthusiasm.  It 
was  magnijficent,  but  the  lowest  estimate  of  what  it 
would  cost  the  Duke  was  a  hundred  thousand  pounds. 

I  put  down  the  paper,  and  my  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  enthusiasm.  I  think  that  if  the  Duke  had  been 
there  at  that  moment  I  could  have  kissed  his  hand.  I 
passed  with  much  less  interest  to  the  letter  which 
Grooton  had  brought  in  with  the  paper.  It  was  from  a 
firm  of  solicitors  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  it  informed  me, 
in  a  few  precise  sentences,  that  they  had  the  authority 
of  their  client.  Sir  Michael  Trogoldy,  to  pay  me  yearly 
the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
FRIEND    OR    ENEMY? 

THERE  came  no  summons  from  Rowchester, 
and  I  dined  alone.  I  must  have  dozed  over 
my  after-dinner  cigarette,  for  at  first  that 
soft  rapping  seemed  to  come  to  me  from  a 
long  way  off.  Then  I  sat  up  in  my  chair  with  a  start. 
My  cigarette  had  burnt  out,  my  coffee  was  cold.  I  had 
been  asleep,  and  outside  some  one  was  knocking  at  my 
front  door. 

I  had  sent  Grooton  to  the  village  with  letters,  and  I 
was  alone  in  the  place.  I  sprang  from  my  chair  just 
as  the  handle  of  the  door  was  turned  and  a  woman 
stepped  quietly  in.  She  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot 
in  a  long  cloak,  and  she  was  thickly  veiled.  But  I  knew 
her  at  once.    It  was  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing. 

My  first  impulse  was  one  of  anger.  It  seemed  to  mo 
that  she  was  taking  advantage  of  the  sympathy  whicli 
Ray's  brutality  during  our  last  interview  had  forced 
from  me.    I  spoke  to  her  coldly,  almost  angrily. 

"Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,"  I  said,  "I  regret  that  I  cannot 
receive  you  here.  My  position  just  now  does  not  allow 
me  to  receive  visitors." 


FRIEND    OR    ENEMY?  227 

She  simply  raised  her  veil  and  sank  into  the  nearest 
chair.  I  was  staggered  when  I  saw  her  face.  It  was 
positively  haggard,  and  her  eyes  were  burning.  She 
looked  at  me  almost  with  horror. 

"I  had  to  come,"  she  said.  "I  could  not  keep  away 
a  moment  longer.  Tell  me  the  truth,  Guy  Ducaine. 
The  truth,  mind !"  she  repeated,  fearfully. 

"What  do  3'ou  mean?"  I  asked,  bewildered.  "I  do 
not  understand  you." 

"Tell  me  the  truth  about  that  man  who  came  to  see 
you  on  the  seventh  of  January." 

I  shook  my  head. 

**I  have  nothing  to  tell  you,"  I  said  firmly.  "When 
I  found  him  on  the  marshes  he  was  dead.  I  did  not  hear 
till  afterwards  that  he  had  ever  asked  for  me." 

"This  is  the  truth.?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"It  is  the  truth !"  I  answered. 

I  could  see  the  relief  shine  in  her  face.  She  was  still 
anxious,  however. 

"Is  it  true,"  she  asked,  "that  you  told  a  girl  in  the 
village,  Blanche  Moyat,  to  keep  secret  the  fact  that  this 
man  inquired  in  the  village  for  the  way  to  your  cot- 
tage?" 

"That  also  is  true,"  I  admitted.  "She  did  not  tell 
me  until  afterwards,  and  I  saw  no  purpose  in  publishing 
the  fact  that  the  man  had  been  on  his  way  to  see  me." 

"You  have  been  very  foolish,"  she  said.  "You  have 
quarrelled  with  the  girl.  She  is  telling  this  against  you, 
and  there  will  be  trouble." 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  I  answered.  "I  never  spoke  to 
the  man.    I  saw  nothing  of  him  until  I  found  him  dead." 


228  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Guy!"  she  cried,  "this  is  an  awful  thing.  I  am 
not  sure,  but  I  believe  that  the  man  was  your  father!" 

As  often  as  the  thought  had  come  to  me  I  had  thrust 
it  away.  This  time,  however,  there  was  no  escape.  The 
whole  hideous  scene  spread  itself  out  again  before  my 
eyes.  I  saw  the  doubled-up  body,  limp  and  nerveless. 
I  felt  again  the  thrill  of  horror  with  which  one  looks 
for  the  first  time  on  death.  The  mockery  of  the  sun- 
light filling  the  air,  gleaming  far  and  wide  upon  the 
creek-riven  marshes  and  wet  sands,  the  singing  of  the 
birds,  the  slow  tramp  of  the  wagon  horses.  All  these 
things  went  to  fill  up  that  one  terrible  picture.  I  looked 
at  the  woman  opposite  to  me,  and  in  her  face  was  some 
reflection  of  the  horror  which  I  as  surely  felt. 

"For  your  sake,"  she  murmured,  "we  must  find  out 
how  he  met  with  his  death." 

"The  verdict  was  Found  drowned,"  I  murmured. 

"People  will  change  their  opinion  now,"  she  answered. 
"Besides,  you  and  I  know  that  he  was  not  drowned." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?"  I  asked. 

"Quite,"  she  answered.  "He  had  letters  with  him, 
I  know,  and  papers  for  you.  Besides,  he  carried  always 
with  him  a  number  of  trifles  by  which  he  could  have 
been  identified.  When  he  was  searched  at  the  police 
station  his  pockets  were  empty.  He  had  been  robbed. 
Guy,  he  had,  as  I  have  had,  one  unflinching,  relentless 
enemy.  Tell  me,  was  Colonel  Ray  in  Braster  at  the* 
time?" 

**No,"  I  answered  hoarsely.  "I  cannot  tell  you.  I 
will  have  no  more  to  do  with  it.  The  matter  is  over — ' 
let  it  rest." 


FRIEND    OR    ENEMY?  229 

"But,  my  poor  boy,"  she  said  quietly,  "it  will  not  be 
allowed  to  rest.  Can't  you  see  that  this  girl's  statement 
does  away  with  the  theory  that  he  was  washed  up  from 
the  sea?  He  met  with  his  death  there  on  the  sands.  He 
left  Braster  to  visit  you,  and  he  was  found  within  a  few 
yards  of  your  cottage  dead,  and  with  marks  of  violence 
upon  him.  You  will  be  suspected,  perhaps  charged.  It 
is  inevitable.  Now  tell  me  the  truth.  Was  Mostyn 
Ray  in  Braster  at  the  time,?" 

"He  lectured  that  night  in  the  village,"  I  answered. 

Her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  strange  fire. 

"I  knew  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  him  at  last, 
then.  I  saw  him  falter  when  I  spoke  of  your  father. 
Guy,  I  will  save  you,  but  I  would  give  the  rest  of  my 
days  to  bring  this  home  to  Mostyn  Ray." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  will  never  do  it,"  I  declared.  "There  might  be 
suspicion,  but  there  will  never  be  any  proof.  If  there 
was  any  murder  done  at  all,  it  was  done  without  wit- 
nesses." 

"We  shall  see  about  that,"  she  muttered.  "There  Is 
what  you  call  circumstantial  evidence.  It  has  hanged 
people  before  now." 

We  remained  silent  for  several  moments.  All  this 
time  she  was  watching  me. 

"Guy,"  she  said  softly,  "you  are  very  like  what  he 
was — at  your  age." 

Her  cloak  had  fallen  back.  She  was  wearing  a  black 
evening  gown  with  a  string  of  pearls  around  her  neck. 
The  excitement  had  given  her  a  faint  colour,  and  some- 
thing like  tears  softened  her  eyes  as  she  looked  across  at 


230  THE    BETRAYAL 

me.  But  the  more  I  looked  at  her  the  more  anxious  T 
was  to  see  her  no  more.  Her  words  reminded  me  of  the 
past.  I  remembered  that  it  was  she  who  had  been  my 
father's  evil  genius,  she  who  had  brought  this  terrible 
disgrace  upon  him,  and  this  cloud  over  my  own  life.  1 
rose  to  my  feet. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  ask  for  any  favours  from  you,"  I 
said,  "but  I  will  ask  you  to  remember  that  if  you  are 
seen  here  I  shall  certainly  lose  my  post." 

*'What  does  it  matter.?"  she  answered  contemptu- 
ously. "I  am  not  a  rich  woman,  Guy,  but  I  know  how 
to  earn  money.  Mostyn  Ray  would  not  believe  it,  per- 
haps, but  I  loved  your  father.  Yours  has  been  a  mis- 
erable httle  hfe.  Come  with  me,  and  I  promise  that  I 
will  show  you  how  to  make  it  great.  You  have  no 
relatives  or  any  ties.  I  promise  you  that  I  will  be  a 
model  stepmother." 

I  looked  at  her,  bewildered. 

"It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  do  anything  of  the  sort," 
I  told  her.  "I  do  not  wish  to  seem  unkind,  but  nothing 
in  this  world  would  induce  me  to  consider  such  a  thing 
for  a  moment.  I  have  chosen  my  life  and  the  manner  of 
it.  Do  you  think  that  I  can  ever  forget  that  you  and  my 
father  between  you  broke  my  mother's  heart,  and  made 
it  necessary  for  me  to  be  brought  up  without  friends, 
ashamed  of  my  name  and  of  my  history?  One  does 
not  forget  these  things.  I  bear  you  no  ill  will,  but  I 
wish  that  you  would  go  away." 

She  sat  there  quite  quietly,  listening  to  me. 

"Guy,"  she  said,  when  I  had  finished,  "all  that  you 
speak  of  happened  many  years  ago.     There  is  forgive- 


FRIEND    OR     ENEMY?  231 

ness  for  everybody,  isn't  there?  You  and  I  are  almost 
alone  in  the  world.  I  want  to  be  your  friend.  You 
might  find  me  a  more  powerful  one  than  you  think. 
Try  me!  I  will  make  your  future  mine.  You  shall 
have  your  own  way  in  all  things.  I  know  the  hills  and 
the  valleys  of  life,  the  underneath  and  the  matchless 
places.  If  you  accept  my  offer  you  will  never  regret  it. 
I  can  be  a  faithful  friend  or  a  relentless  enemy.  Be- 
tween you  and  me,  Guy,  there  can  be  no  middle  course. 
I  want  to  be  your  friend.     Don't  make  me  your  enemy." 

The  woman  puzzled  me.  She  had  every  appearance 
of  being  in  earnest.  Yet  the  things  which  she  proposed 
were  absurd. 

"This  is  folly,"  I  answered  her.  *'I  cannot  count  it 
anything  else.  Do  you  suppose  that  I  want  to  creep 
through  life  at  a  woman's  apron-strings?  I  am  old 
enough,  and  strong  enough,  I  hope,  to  think  and  act 
for  myself.  My  career  is  my  own,  to  make  or  to  mar. 
I  do  not  wish  for  enmity  from  any  one,  but  your  friend- 
ship I  cannot  accept.  Our  ways  lie  apart — a  long  way 
apart." 

"Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
think  that  you  and  I  may  come  together  again  very 
soon,  and  it  is  possible  that  you  may  need  my  help." 

"All  that  I  need  now,"  I  answered  impatiently,  "is 
your  absence." 

She  rose  at  once  from  her  chair. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "I  will  go.  Only  let  me  warn 
you  that  I  am  a  persistent  woman.  I  think  that  it  will 
not  be  very  long  before  you  will  see  things  differently. 
Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Guy?" 


232  THE    BETRAYAL 

Her  small  white  fingers  came  hesitatingly  out  from 
under  her  cloak.  I  did  not  stop  to  think  to  what  my 
action  might  commit  me,  whether  indeed  it  was  seemly 
that  I  should  accept  any  measure  of  friendship  from 
this  woman.  I  took  her  hand  and  held  it  for  a  moment 
in  mine. 

"You  cannot  go  back  alone,"  I  said,  doubtfully,  as  I 
opened  the  door. 

"I  have  a  servant  waiting  close  by,"  she  answered, 
"and  I  am  not  at  all  afraid.  Think  over  what  I  have 
said  to  you — and  good-bye."  ' 

She  drew  her  cloak  around  her  and  flitted  away  into 
the  darkness. 


CHAPTER   XXVIIl 
A    WOMAN'S    TONGUE 

GROOTON  returned  a  few  minutes  later  from 
the  village.  He  begged  the  favour  of  a 
few  words  with  me.  He  was  a  man  of 
impassive  features  and  singular  quietness 
of  demeanour.  Yet  it  was  obvious  that  something  had 
happened  to  disturb  him. 

**I  think  it  only  right,  sir,  that  you  should  know  of 
the  reports  which  are  circulating  in  the  neighbour- 
hood," he  said,  fixing  his  dark  grave  eyes  respectfully 
upon  me.  "I  called  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  inn,  and 
made  it  my  business  to  listen." 

*'Do  these  reports  concern  me,  Grooton.?"  I  asked. 

"They  do,  sir." 

'*Go  ahead,  then,"  I  told  him. 

"They  refer  also,  sir,"  he  said,  "to  the  man  who 
was  found  dead  near  the  cottage  where  you  used  to  live 
in  January  last.  He  was  supposed  to  have  been  washed 
up  from  the  sea,  but  it  has  recently  been  stated  that  he 
was  seen,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  before  his  body  was 
found,  in  the  village,  and  it  is  also  stated  that  he  in- 
quired from  a  certain  person  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 


THE    BETRAYAL 

your  cottage.  He  set  out  with  the  intention  of  calling 
upon  you,  and  he  was  found  dead  in  the  morning  by 
you,  sir,  within  a  hundred  yards  of  where  you  were 
living." 

"Anything  else,  Grooton?" 

"There  is  a  lot  of  foolish  talk,  sir.  He  is  said  to 
have  been  a  relative  of  yours  with  whom  you  were  not 
on  good  terms,  and  the  young  lady  who  has  just  given 
this  information  to  the  police  through  her  father  states 
that  she  has  remained  silent  up  to  now  at  your  request." 

"I  am  supposed,  then,"  I  said,  "to  be  concerned  in 
this  fellow's  death?" 

"I  have  heard  that  opinion  openly  expressed,  sir," 
Grooton  assented,  respectfully. 

I  nodded. 

*'Thank  you,  Grooton,"  I  said.  "I  shall  be  prepared 
then  for  anything  that  may  happen.  If  you  hear 
anything  further  let  me  know." 

"I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so,  sir,"  he  answered. 

He  bowed  and  withdrew.  Then  as  I  lit  my  pipe  and 
resumed  my  seat  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  the 
man  who  was  chiefly  concerned  in  this  matter  should  at 
least  be  warned.  I  sat  down  at  my  desk  and  wrote  to 
Ray.  I  had  scarcely  finished  when  I  heard  footsteps 
outside,  followed  by  an  imperious  knocking  at  my  front 
door.  I  opened  it  at  once.  The  Duke  and  Lady 
Angela  entered.  I  saw  at  once  from  her  disturbed  ex- 
pression that  something  had  happened. 

The  Duke  wore  a  long  cape  over  his  dinner  clothes, 
and  he  had  evidently  walked  fast.  He  looked  at  me 
sharply  as  I  rose  to  my  feet. 


A     WOMAN*S    TONGUE 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  to  ask  you  to 
explain  the  sudden  departure  of  my  son  for  abroad." 

I  was  taken  aback,  and  I  dare  say  I  showed  it. 

"I  have  already  told  Lady  Angela — all  that  I  know," 
I  said. 

"My  daughter's  story,"  the  Duke  answered,  "is 
incoherent.  It  tells  me  only  enough  to  make  me  sure 
that  something  is  being  concealed." 

I  glanced  at  Lady  Angela.  She  was  looking  white 
and  troubled. 

"I  have  told  my  father,"  she  said,  "all  that  I  know." 

"Then  I  must  discover  the  rest  for  myself,"  the 
Duke  replied.  *'I  know  that  Blenavon  is  uncertain  and 
unstable  to  a  degree.  When  I  heard  that  he  had  left  for 
the  Continent,  I  was  not  particularly  surprised  or  in- 
terested. I  have  only  just  discovered  the  manner  of 
his  leaving.  It  puts  an  entirely  different  complexion 
upon  the  affair.  I  understand  that  he  left  with  Colonel 
Ray  without  luggage  or  explanations  of  any  sort.  His 
own  servant  had  no  warning,  and  was  left  behind.  My 
daughter  informs  me  that  such  information  as  she  has 
she  gained  from  you.  I  require  you  to  supplement 
it." 

**I  am  afraid  that  the  only  person  who  can  enlighten 
you  further,  sir,  is  Colonel  Ray,"  I  answered.  "I  un- 
derstood you  to  say,  I  believe,  that  he  would  be  here 
shortly." 

"I  insist  upon  it,"  the  Duke  said  sternly,  "that  you 
tell  me  what  you  know  at  once  and  without  further 
prevarication." 

I  was  in  a  dilemma  from  which  there  seemed  to  be 


236  THE    BETRAYAL 

no  escape.  Lady  Angela  had  seated  herself  in  my  easy 
chair  and  was  keeping  her  face  averted  from  me.  The 
Duke  stood  between  us. 

"I  know  very  little,  sir,  except  what  I  overheard,*' 
I  declared.  "Colonel  Ray  was,  I  believe,  responsible 
for  Lord  Blcnavon's  abrupt  departure,  and  I  would 
rather  that  your  information  came  from  him." 

"Colonel  Ray  is  not  here,  and  you  are,"  the  Duke 
answered.  "Remember  that  I  am  no  trifler  with  words. 
I  have  said  that  I  insist.    I  repeat  it !" 

There  seemed  to  be  no  escape  for  me.  Lady  Angela 
remained  silent,  the  Duke  was  plainly  insistent.  I  did 
not  dare  to  trifle  with  him. 

"Very  good,  your  Grace,"  I  said,  "I  will  tell  you 
what  I  know.  It  dates  from  last  Monday,  when  you  will 
remember  that  I  was  in  London  to  attend  a  meeting  of 
the  Council." 

"Go  on !" 

"I  returned  here  by  the  last  train,  bringing  with  me 
the  notes  and  instructions  taken  at  that  meeting.  Out- 
side Braster  Grange  an  attack  was  made  upon  me,  evi- 
dently with  the  intention  of  securing  these.  I  escaped, 
with  the  assistance  of  Colonel  Ray,  who  had  come  down 
from  London  by  the  same  train  unknown  to  me." 

"Well?" 

"The  attack  was  made  from  the  grounds  of  Braster 
Grange.  It  seems  that  Lord  Blenavon  spent  the  night 
there.  The  next  morning  Colonel  Ray  insisted  upon 
my  accompanying  him  to  Braster  Grange.  Lord  Blen- 
avon was  still  there,  and  we  saw  him.    He  was  suffering 


A    WOMAN'S    TONGUE  237 

from  wounds  such  as  in  the  darkness  I  had  inflicted 
upon  my  assailant  of  the  night  before." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  even  then  the  Duke  would  not, 
or  could  not^  understand.  His  brows  were  knitted  into 
a  heavy  frown,  and  he  was  evidently  following  my 
story  with  close  attention.  But  exactly  where  I  was 
going  to  lead,  he  seemed  to  have  no  idea. 

"The  tenant  of  Braster  Grange,"  I  continued,  "is 
a  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  whom  Colonel  Ray  has  told  me 
is  a  servant  of  the  French  secret  police.  I  am  afraid 
that  Lord  Blenavon  has  been  a  good  deal  under  her 
influence." 

Then  the  Duke  blazed  out,  which  was  very  much 
what  I  expected  from  him.  Horror,  amazement,  and 
scornful  disbelief  were  all  expressed  in  his  transfigured 
face  and  angry  words. 

**Blenavon !  My  son !  The  confederate  of  a  French 
spy!  What  nonsense!  Who  dares  to  suggest  such  a 
thing?     Angela — I — I  beg  your  pardon." 

He  stopped  short,  making  an  effort  to  regain  his 
self-control.  He  continued  in  a  more  collected  manner, 
but  his  voice  still  shook  with  inexpressible  scorn. 

"Angela,"  he  said,  turning  to  her,  "is  it  within  your 
knowledge  that  Blenavon  had  any  acquaintance  with 
this  person?" 

I  think  that  her  face  might  well  have  answered  him : 
very  white  it  was,  and  very  sorrowful. 

"Blenavon  met  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  I  believe,  at 
Bordighera,"  she  said.  "I  have  seen  them  together 
several  times." 

"Here?"  the  Duke  asked  sharply. 


238  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  them  riding  on  the  sands,  and 
Blenavon  dined  there  on  the  night — Mr.  Ducaine  has 
been  speaking  of." 

"Blenavon  is  a  fool!"  the  Duke  said.  "This  is  to 
my  mind  convincing  proof  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the 
woman's  antecedents.  At  the  worst  he  probably  re- 
garded her  as  an  ordinary  adventuress.  As  for  the 
rest,  I  look  upon  it  as  the  most  extraordinary  mare's 
nest  which  the  mind  of  man  could  possibly  conceive. 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Ducaine,  that  Colonel  Ray 
went  so  far  as  to  charge  Blenavon  to  his  face  with  being 
in  league  with  this  person.?" 

"He  certainly  did,  sir." 

"And  Blenavon.?     Oh,  Ray  is  mad,  stark  mad!" 

*'Your  son  denied  it,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Denied  it!     Of  course  he  did.     What  followed?" 

**Colonel  Ray  was  very  forcible  and  very  impera- 
tive, sir,"  I  answered.  "He  insisted  upon  Lord  Blen- 
avon leaving  England  at  once." 

"Well.?" 

"Lord  Blenavon  consented  to  do  so,  sir,"  I  said 
quietly. 

I  saw  the  veins  in  the  Duke's  forehead  stand  out  like 
whipcord.  He  began  a  sentence  and  left  it  unfinished. 
He  was  in  that  condition  when  words  are  impotent. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  asked,  **what 
possible  argument  Colonel  Ray  could  have  made  use  of 
to  induce  my  son  to  consent  to  this  extraordinary  pro- 
ceeding?'* 

"I  know  no  more  about  the  matter,  your  Grace,"  I 
answered.     "Perhaps  Lord  Blenavon  felt  that  his  in- 


A    WOMAN'S    TONGUE  239 

timacy  with  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  had  compromised  him 
— that  appearances  were  against  him " 

"Pshaw!"  the  Duke  interrupted.  "Blenavon's  in- 
trigues are  foolish  enough,  but  they  are  beside  the 
mark.  I  want  to  know  what  further  argument  or  in- 
ducement Colonel  Ray  used.  I  understand  neither  why 
Ray  desired  to  get  rid  of  my  son,  nor  why  my  son 
obeyed  his  ridiculous  request." 

*'Colonel  Ray  will  doubtless  have  some  further  ex- 
planation to  offer  you,  sir,"  I  said. 

"He  had  better,"  the  Duke  answered  grimly.  "I 
shall  wire  him  to  come  here  at  once.  With  your  per- 
mission, Mr.  Ducaine,  I  will  sit  down  for  a  moment. 
This  affair  has  shaken  me." 

Indeed,  as  the  excitement  passed  away,  I  could  see 
that  he  was  looking  ill  and  worn.  Lady  Angela  made 
him  take  the  easy  chair,  and  he  accepted  a  liqueur  glass 
full  of  brandy  which  I  poured  out.  He  remained  for 
several  minutes  sipping  it  and  looking  thoughtfully 
into  the  fire.  He  seemed  to  me  to  have  aged  by  a  dozen 
years.  The  brisk  alertness  of  his  manner  had  all  de- 
parted.   He  was  an  old  man,  limp  and  querulous. 

"This  unfortunate  affair,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said, 
looking  up  at  last,  "remains  of  course  between  ourselves 
and  Ray — and  the  woman." 

*'It  is  unnecessary  for  you  to  ask  me  that,  sir,"  I 
answered  quietly.  "Colonel  Ray  will  doubtless  have 
some  explanation.  He  is  a  man  of  vigorous  temper, 
and  I  fancy  that  Lord  Blenavon  was  not  quite  him- 
self." 

The  Duke  rose  to  his  feet. 


240  THE    BETRAYAL 

"If  you  are  ready,  Angela,"  he  said,  "we  will  not  de- 
tain Mr.  Ducaine  further." 

"You  will  allow  me  to  walk  with  you  to  the  house, 
sir,"  I  begged. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  quite  recovered,  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "My 
daughter  will  give  me  her  arm." 

I  let  them  out  myself  and  held  the  lamp  over  my 
head  to  light  them  on  their  way.  With  slow  uncertain 
steps,  and  leaning  heavily  upon  Lady  Angela's  arm,  I 
watched  him  disappear  in  the  blackness  of  the  plan- 
tation. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 
THE  LINK  IN   THE   CHAIN 

PRACTICALLY  for  three  days  and  three 
nights  the  Council  sat  continually.  There 
was  no  pretence  now  at  recreation,  no  other 
guests.  We  worked,  all  of  us,  from  the 
Duke  downwards,  unflaggingly  and  with  very  little  res- 
pite. When  at  last  the  end  came,  my  padlocked  note- 
book, with  its  hundreds  of  pages  of  hieroglyphics,  held 
the  principal  material  for  three  schemes  of  coast  de- 
fence, each  one  considered  separately  and  supported  by 
a  mass  of  detail  as  to  transport,  commissariat,  and 
many  minor  points. 

The  principal  members  of  the  Council  departed  by 
special  train  early  on  Monday  morning.  I  myself,  a 
little  dizzy  and  hot-eyed,  walked  across  the  park  an  hour 
after  dawn,  and  flung  myself  upon  my  bed  with  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief.  Before  I  had  closed  my  eyes,  however, 
Grooton  appeared  with  apologies  for  his  dishabille. 

"I  have  been  up  to  the  house  twice,  sir,"  he  said,  "but 
they  would  not  let  me  see  you  or  even  send  in  a  message. 
I  thought  it  only  right  to  let  you  know  at  once,  sir,  that 
the  police  have  been  here  rummaging  about.  They  had 
what  they  called  a  search  warrant,  I  believe.     I  came  up 


242  THE    BETRAYAL 

to  the  house  immediately,  but  I  could  not  induce  any  of 
the  servants  to  bring  word  in  to  you.  Mr.  Jesson,  the 
Duke's  own  man,  told  me  that  it  was  as  much  as  his 
place  was  worth  to  allow  any  one  to  enter  the  library." 

"All  right,  Grooton,"  I  muttered.  "Hang  the 
pohce !" 

I  believe  he  said  something  else,  but  I  never  heard  it. 
I  was  already  fast  asleep. 

About  mid-day  I  was  awakened  by  the  dazzling  sun- 
shine which  seemed  to  fill  the  room.  I  called  for  a  bath, 
dressed,  and  made  an  excellent  breakfast.  Then  I 
brought  out  my  notebook  and  prepared  for  work.  I 
had  scarcely  dipped  my  pen  in  the  ink,  however,  when 
a  shadow  darkened  the  window.  I  looked  up  quickly. 
It  was  Ray. 

He  entered  without  knocking,  and  I  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  in  a  strange  condition.  He  scarcely  greeted  me, 
but  sank  into  my  easy  chair,  and  drawing  out  his  pipe 
began  to  fill  it.  Then  I  saw,  too,  what  I  had  never  seen 
before.     His  fingers  were  shaking. 

"Boy,"  he  said,  "have  you  any  wine.?" 

"The  Duke  sent  me  some  claret,"  I  answered.  "Will 
that  do?" 

"Ay!" 

I  summoned  Grooton  and  ordered  the  wine  and  some 
biscuits.  Ray  was  a  man  who  ate  and  drunk  sparingly. 
Yet  he  filled  a  tumbler  and  drank  it  straight  oflp. 

**You  and  I,"  he  remarked,  "are  the  only  two  who  sat 
the  whole  show  out.     It  was  a  grind,  wasn't  it?" 

"It  was,"  I  answered,  "but  I  have  slept,  and  I  feel 


THE  LINK  IN   THE   CHAIN        243 

none  the  worse  for  it.  Lord  Chelsford  carried  us  on 
splendidly.  There  is  solid  work  here,"  I  said ;  "some- 
thing worth  the  planning." 

I  touched  my  notebook  almost  affectionately,  for  the 
work  was  fascinating  now  that  it  had  attained  coherent 
form.  Ray  smoked  on  and  said  nothing  for  several 
minutes.     Then  he  looked  up  at  me. 

"Have  you  a  spare  bedroom,  Ducaine?" 

"One  or  two,"  I  answered.  "They  are  not  all  fur- 
nished, but  one  at  any  rate  is  decent." 

"Will  you  put  me  up  for  a  day — perhaps  two?" 

"Of  course,"  I  answered,  but " 

He  answered  my  unspoken  question. 

"The  Duke  has  turned  me  out,"  he  said  grimly. 
"Who  would  have  suspected  the  old  man  of  such  folly.' 
He  believes  in  Blenavon.  I  told  him  the  plain  truth, 
and  he  told  me  that  I  was  a  liar." 

"I  thought  that  he  would  be  difficult  to  convince,"  I 
remarked. 

"He  has  all  the  magnificent  pig-headedness  of  his 
race,"  Ray  answered.  "Blenavon  is  Blenavon,  and  he 
can  do  no  wrong.  He  would  summon  him  home  again, 
but  fortunately  the  young  man  himself  is  no  fool.  He 
will  not  come.     You  told  Lady  Angela?" 

"Everything." 

"She  believed  you?" 

"I  think  that  she  did,"  I  answered. 

His  face  softened. 

*'The  Duke  showed  me  from  the  door  himself,"  he 
said.  "You  will  not  object  to  my  sending  a  note  to 
Lady  Angela  by  your  servant?" 


244  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Make  whatever  use  of  him  you  choose,"  I  answered. 
*'There  are  pen  and  ink  and  notepaper  upon  the  table." 

Then  I  settled  down  to  my  work.  Ray  wrote  his 
note,  and  went  upstairs  to  sleep.  In  an  hour's  time  he 
was  down  again.  There  were  black  rims  under  his 
eyes,  and  I  could  see  at  once  that  he  had  had  no  rest. 
Grooton  had  brought  his  bag  from  the  house,  and  a 
note  from  Lady  Angela.  He  read  it  with  unchanging 
face,  and  placed  it  carefully  in  his  breast  coat- 
pocket. 

"I  am  off  to  the  village  to  send  some  telegrams,"  he 
said,  "and  afterwards  I  shall  go  on  for  a  walk." 

"What  about  lunch  .f*"  I  asked,  glancing  at  the  clock. 

"None  for  me,"  he  answered.  *'Some  tea  at  four 
o'clock,  if  I  may  have  it.     I  will  be  back  by  then." 

He  swung  off,  and  I  was  thankful,  for  my  work  de- 
manded my  whole  attention  and  very  careful  thought. 
At  a  iew  minutes  after  four  he  returned,  and  Grooton 
brought  us  some  tea.  Directly  we  were  alone  Ray 
looked  across  at  me  with  a  black  frown  upon  his  face. 

"You  know  what  they  are  saying  in  the  village  about 
you,  young  man.?" 

*'I  can  guess,"  I  answered. 

"Who  is  this  girl,  Blanche  Moyat?" 

"A  farmer's  daughter,"  I  answered.  "It  seems  that 
I  paid  her  too  much  or  too  litt^-?  attention,  I  am  not  sure 
which.  At  any  rate,  she  has  an  imaginary  grievance 
against  me,  and  this  is  the  result." 

"She  tells  the  truth.?" 

"I  have  not  heard  her  story,"  I  answered,  "but  it  is 
true  that  I  encouraged  her  to  suppress  the  fact  that  she 


THE   LINK  IN  THE   CHAIN        245 

had  seen  the  man  in  the  village,  and  that  he  had  asked 
for  me." 

"What  folly !" 

"Perhaps,"  I  answered.  "You  see,  I  thought  that  a 
verdict  of  'found  drowned'  would  save  trouble." 

"This  accursed  woman  at  the  Grange  is  in  it,  I  know," 
Ray  remarked,  slowly  filling  his  pipe.  "I  wonder  if  she 
knew  that  I  was  about  ?  That  would  give  her  a  zest  for 
the  job." 

"She  knows  that  you  were  at  Braster  at  the  time,"  I 
said.     "It  was  the  night  of  your  lecture." 

Ray  began  to  blow  out  dense  clouds  of  smoke. 

"We're  safe,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "both  of  us. 
There's  just  a  hnk  in  the  chain  missing." 

"The  police  have  been  here  with  a  warrant  in  search 
of  that  link,"  I  remarked. 

"They'll  never  find  it,  for  it's  in  my  pocket,"  he  re- 
marked grimly. 

"Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  suddenly  nerving  myself  to 
risk  his  anger,  "there  is  a  question  which  I  must  ask 
you." 

I  saw  his  lips  come  firmly  together.  He  neither  en- 
couraged nor  checked  me. 

"Who  was  that  man?" 

"You  are  better  ignorant." 

"Was  it  my  father.?" 

If  he  did  not  answer  my  question,  it  at  least  seemed 
to  suggest  something  to  him. 

"Has  that  woman  been  here.?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"She  believes  that  it  was  your  father?'* 


246  THE    BETRAYAL 

"She  does." 

He  removed  his  pipe  from  his  teeth  and  looked  at  it 

thoughtfully. 

"Ah!"  he  said. 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question,"  I  reminded 
him. 

"Nor  am  I  going  to,"  he  replied  coolly.  "You  know 
already  as  much  as  is  good  for  you." 

He  rose  and  threw  open  the  door  of  my  cottage.  For 
several  moments  he  stood  bareheaded,  looking  up  to- 
wards the  house,  looking  and  listening.  He  glanced 
at  his  watch,  and  walked  several  times  backwards  and 
forwards  from  the  edge  of  the  chfF  to  my  door.  Then 
he  came  in  for  his  hat  and  stick. 

"I  am  going  down  to  the  sea,"  he  said.  "If  Lady 
Angela  comes,  will  you  call  me.''  I  shall  not  be  out  of 
hearing." 

"You  are  expecting  her.?"  I  asked,  looking  down  at 
my  work. 

"Yes.  It  was  necessary  for  me  to  see  her  somewhere, 
so  I  asked  her  to  come  here.  Perhaps  the  Duke  has 
found  out  and  stopped  her.  Anyhow,  call  me  if  she 
comes." 

He  stepped  outside,  and  I  heard  him  scrambling  down 
the  cliff.  I  set  my  teeth  and  turned  to  my  work.  It 
was  a  hard  thing  to  have  my  little  room,  with  its  store 
of  memories,  turned  into  a  meeting-place  for  these  two. 
I  at  least  would  take  care  to  be  far  enough  away.  And 
then  I  began  wondering  whether  she  would  come.  I 
was  still  wondering  when  I  heard  her  footsteps. 


THE  LINK  IN   THE   CHAIN        247 

She  came  in  unaccustomed  garb  to  me.  She  wore 
a  grey  dress  of  some  soft  material,  and  a  large  black  hat 
with  feathers.  Her  skirts  were  gathered  up  in  her  hand, 
and  I  heard  the  jingling  of  harness  at  the  corner  of  the 
avenue  where  her  carriage  was  waiting.  I  opened  the 
door,  and  she  entered  with  a  soft  swish  of  silk  and  a 
gentle  rusthng.  The  room  seemed  instantly  full  of 
perfume  of  Neapolitan  violets,  a  great  bunch  of  which 
were  in  her  bosom. 

She  looked  swiftly  around,  and  I  fancied  that  it  was  a 
relief  to  her  to  find  me  alone. 

"Is  Colonel  Ray  here?"  she  asked. 

"He  is  waiting  for  you,"  I  answered,  "on  the  sands. 
I  promised  to  call  him  directly  you  came." 

I  moved  toward  the  door,  but  she  checked  me  with  an 
imperative  gesture. 

"Wait,"  she  said. 

I  came  slowly  back  and  stood  by  my  table.  She  was 
sitting  with  her  hands  clasped  together,  looking  into  the 
fire.    She  looked  very  girlish  and  frail. 

"I  want  to  think — for  a  moment,"  she  said.  "Every- 
thing seems  confusion.  My  father  has  commanded  me 
to  break  my  engagement  with  Colonel  Ray." 

I  remained  silent.  What  was  there,  indeed,  for  me 
to  say.? 

"In  my  heart,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "I  know  that  my 
father  is  wrong  and  that  Colonel  Ray  is  right.  He  has 
simply  done  his  duty.  Blenavon  was  being  sorely 
tempted.  He  is  better  away — out  of  the  country.  Oh, 
I  am  sure  of  that." 


«48  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Colonel  Ray  has  done  what  he  believed  to  be  his 
duty,"  I  said  slowly.  "It  is  hard  that  he  should  suffer 
for  that." 

"Often,"  she  murmured,  "one  has  to  suffer  for  doing 
the  right  thing.  My  father  has  made  himself  a  poor 
man  because  of  his  sense  of  what  was  right.  I  do  not 
know  what  to  do." 

I  glanced  out  of  the  window.  For  many  reasons  I 
did  not  wish  to  prolong  this  interview. 

"He  is  waiting,"  I  reminded  her. 

"I  must  do  one  of  two  things,"  she  murmured.  "I 
must  break  my  faith  with  my  father — or  with  him." 

Then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine. 

"Tell  me  what  you  think,  Mr.  Ducaine?"  she  asked. 

I  opened  my  lips  to  speak,  but  I  could  not.  Was  it 
fair  that  she  should  ask  me?  My  little  room  was 
peopled  with  dreams  of  her,  with  delightful  but  im- 
possible visions.  My  very  nerves  were  full  of  the  joy 
of  her  presence.  It  was  madness  to  ask  for  my  judg- 
ment, when  the  very  poetry  of  my  life  was  an  un- 
reasoning and  hopeless  love  for  her. 

"I  cannot !"  I  muttered.     "You  must  not  ask  me." 

She  seemed  surprised.  After  all,  I  had  guarded 
my  secret  well,  then? 

"You  will  not  refuse  to  help  me,"  she  pleaded. 

I  set  my  teeth  hard.  I  longed  for  Ray,  but  there 
were  no  signs  of  him. 

"Your  father  has  ordered  you  to  break  your  engage- 
ment with  Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  ''but  he  has  done  so 
under  a  misapprehension  of  the  facts.  You  owe 
obedience  to  your  father,  but  you  owe  more — ^to — the 


THE  LINK  IN   THE   CHAIN        24^ 

man  whose  wife  you  have  promised  to  be.  I  do  not 
think  you  should  give  him  up." 

She  listened  eagerly.  Was  it  my  fancy,  or  was  she 
indeed  a  little  paler  .f*  Her  eyes  seemed  to  gleam  with  a 
strange  softness  in  the  twilight.  Her  head  drooped  a 
a  little  as  she  resumed  her  former  thoughtful  attitude. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "I  believe  that  you 
are  right." 

I  caught  up  a  bundle  of  papers  from  my  desk  and 
stole  softly  from  the  room.  Ray  was  close  at  hand,  and 
I  called  to  him. 

"She  is  in  there  waiting  for  you,"  I  said.  "I  have 
some  transcribed  matter,  which  I  am  taking  up  to  the 
safe." 

Ray  nodded  abruptly,  and  I  heard  the  dooi  of  my 
cottage  open  and  close  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
MOSTYN   RAY'S   LOVE   STORY 

IN  a  dark  corner  of  the  library,  sitting  motionless 
before  a  small  writing-desk,  I  found  the  Duke. 
The  table  was  littered  all  over  with  papers,  a 
ledger  or  two  and  various  documents.  I  had  met 
Mr.  Hulshaw,  the  agent  to  the  estates,  in  the  drive,  so  I 
judged  that  the  two  had  had  business  together. 

The  Duke  had  not  greeted  me  on  my  entrance,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  asleep  in  his  chair.  But  at  the  sound 
of  the  electric  bell,  which  announced  the  opening  of  the 
safe,  he  turned  sharply  round. 

"Is  that  you,  Ducaine.'"' 

"Yes,  your  Grace,"  I  answered. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

**I  have  brought  up  the  first  batch  of  copy,  sir,"  I 
answered. 

"You  have  sealed  it  properly.?" 

"With  Lord  Chelsford's  seal,  sir,"  I  told  him. 

He  turned  round  in  his  chair  sharply. 

"What's  that.?"  he  asked. 

■"Lord  Chelsf ord  gave  me  an  old  signet  ring  before  he 


MOSTYN   RAY'S   LOVE    STORY    261 

left,  sir,"  I  said,  "with  a  very  peculiar  design.  I  wear 
it  attached  by  a  chain  to  an  iron  bracelet  round  my 
arm." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  the  Duke  ordered. 

I  took  off  my  coat,  and  baring  my  arm,  showed  him 
the  ring  hanging  by  a  few  inches  of  strong  chain  from 
the  bracelet.     He  examined  the  design  curiously. 

"How  do  you  detach  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  cannot  detach  it,  sir,"  I  answered.  "The  bracelet 
has  a  Bramah  lock,  and  Lord  Chelsford  has  the  key. 
He  used  to  wear  it  many  years  ago  when  he  was  Queen's 
messenger." 

The  Duke  examined  the  ring  long  and  searchingly. 
Then  he  looked  from  it  into  my  face. 

"You  mean  to  say  that  you  cannot  take  that  off?'* 

"A  locksmith  might,  sir.     I  certainly  could  not." 

The  Duke  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**Chelsford's  methods  seem  to  me  to  savour  a  little 
of  opera  bouffe,"  he  remarked  drily.  "For  my  own  part 
I  believe  that  these  marvellous  documents  would  be  per- 
fectly safe  in  the  unlocked  drawer  of  my  desk.  I  do 
not  believe  any  of  these  stories  which  come  from  Paris 
about  copies  of  our  work  being  in  existence.  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  be  careless,  of  course,  but  don't  overdo 
your  precautions.  This  place  is  scarcely  so  much  a 
nest  of  conspirators  as  faddists  like  Chelsford  and  Ray 
would  have  us  believe." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  think  so,  sir,"  I  an- 
swered. "Our  precautions  do  seem  a  little  elaborate, 
but  it  is  quite  certain  that  the  Winchester  papers  were 
disturbed." 


252  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  do  not  choose  to  believe  it,  Ducaine,"  the  Duke 
said  irritably.     "Kindly  remember  that!" 

"Very  good,  sir,"  I  answered.  "There  is  nothing 
else  you  wish  to  say  to  me?'* 

"There  is  something  else,"  the  Duke  answered 
coldly.  "I  understand  that  the  police  yesterday,  on  a 
sworn  aflSdavit,  were  granted  a  search  warrant  to  ex- 
amine your  premises  for  stolen  property.  What  the 
devil  is  the  meaning  of  this.?" 

"I  think,  sir,"  I  answered,  "that  the  stolen  property 
was  a  pretext.  It  seems  that  during  the  last  few  days 
has  come  to  light  that  the  man  whose  body  I 
found  on  the  sands  was  not  washed  in  from  the  sea,  but 
was  a  stranger,  who  had  arrived  in  Braster  the  previous 
evening,  and  had  made  inquiries  as  to  where  I  lived.  It 
seems  to  be  the  desire  of  the  police,  therefore,  to  connect 
me  in  some  way  with  the  affair." 

The  Duke  looked  at  me  searchingly. 

**I  presume,"  he  said,  "that  they  had  something  in 
the  nature  of  evidence,  or  they  vould  scarcely  have 
been  able  to  swear  the  affidavit  for  the  search  warrant.*' 

"They  have  nothing  more  direct,  sir,  than  that  the 
body  was  found  close  to  my  cottage,  that  he  had  pre- 
sumably left  Braster  to  see  me,  and  that  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  persuade  the  person,  of  whom  the  dead  man 
made  these  inquiries  in  Braster,  not  to  come  forward  at 
the  inquest." 

"Stop!  Stop!"  the  Duke  said  irritably.  "You  did 
what?" 

"The  young  woman  of  whom  he  inquired  was  close 
at  hand  when  I  discovered  the  body  of  the  man,"  I 


MOSTYN   RAY'S   LOVE    STORY     253 

said.  "She  told  me  about  him.  I  was  a  little  upset, 
and  I  suggested  that  there  was  no  necessity  for  her  to 
disclose  the  fact  of  having  seen  him." 

"It  was  a  remarkably  foolish  thing  of  you  to  do," 
the  Duke  said. 

"I  am  realizing  it  now,  sir,"  I  answered.     ^ 

"Did  this  person  call  on  you  at  all?"  the  Duke 
asked. 

"No,  sir.  You  may  remember  that  it  was  the  night 
of  Colonel  Ray's  lecture.  He  called  to  see  me  on  his 
way  back  and  found  me  ill.  I  believe  that  this  person 
looked  in  at  the  window  and  went  away.  I  saw  no  more 
of  him  alive  after  this." 

"You  have  some  idea,  I  presume,  as  to  his  identity?" 

"I  have  no  definite  information,  your  Grace,"  I 
answered. 

The  Duke  did  not  look  at  me  for  several  moments. 

*'I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "that  you  may  ex- 
perience some  inconvenience  from  this  most  ill-advised 
attempt  of  yours  to  suppress  evidence  which  should 
most  certainly  have  been  given  at  the  inquest.  How- 
ever, I  have  no  doubt  that  your  story  is  true.  I  have 
some  inquiries  now  before  me  from  the  police  station. 
I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you.    Good-evening,  Ducaine." 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I  am  much 
obliged  to  you." 

I  walked  homewards  across  the  park.  The  carriage 
had  gone  from  the  private  road,  and  Ray  was  alone 
when  I  entered.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  what  had 
happened  from  his  expression.  He  sat  stretched  out  in 
my  easy  chair,  smoking  furiously,  and  his  face  was 


254  THE    BETRAYAL 

impassive.  Grooton  served  us  with  dinner,  and  he  ate 
and  drank  with  only  a  few  curt  remarks.  But  after- 
wards, when  I  was  deep  in  my  work,  he  suddenly  ad- 
dressed me. 

"Boy,"  he  then  said,  "turn  round  and  listen  to  me." 

I  obeyed  him  at  once. 

"Listen  well,"  he  said,  "for  I  am  not  given  to  con- 
fidences. Yet  I  am  going  to  speak  to  you  of  the  secret 
places  of  my  life." 

I  laid  down  the  pen  which  I  had  been  holding  be- 
tween my  fingers,  and  turned  my  chair.  I  judged 
that  it  was  not  necessary  for  me  to  speak,  nor  appar- 
ently did  he  think  so. 

"I  have  been  soldiering  all  my  days,"  he  said,  "since 
I  was  a  child  almost.  It  is  a  glorious  life.  God  knows 
I  have  never  grudged  a  single  month  of  it.  But  when 
one  comes  back  once  more  to  dwell  amongst  civilians 
one  realizes  that  there  is  another  side  to  life.  It  is  so 
with  me.  I  am  not  given  to  doubts  or  to  asking  advice 
from  any  man.  But  the  time  has  come  when  I  have 
the  one  and  need  of  the  other." 

He  paused,  knocked  out  some  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
and  relighted  it. 

"I  have  loved  two  women  in  my  life,  Guy,"  he  went 
on  slowly.     **The  first  was  your  mother." 

I  started  a  little,  but  I  still  held  my  peace.  He 
looked  hard  into  the  ashes  of  the  fire,  and  continued. 

"I  tried  my  best,"  he  said,  "to  be  a  friend  to  her 
after  her  marriage,  and  I  hope,  I  think,  that  I  suc- 
ceeded. I  even  did  my  best  to  fight  that  woman's  in- 
fluence with  your  father  at  Gibraltar.     There  I  failed. 


MOSTYN    RAY'S   LOVE    STORY    255 

I  was  foredoomed  to  failure!  She  had  the  trick  of 
playing  what  tune  she  cared  to  on  a  man's  heartstrings. 
After  it  was  all  over,  and  your  father  and  she  had  left 
the  place,  I  spent  years  trying  to  persuade  your  mother 
to  get  a  divorce  and  marry  me.  But  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  Bishop,  a  High  Churchwoman,  and  a  holy 
woman.  She  died  with  your  father's  name  upon  her 
lips." 

I  shuddered !  The  words  were  spoken  so  deliberately, 
and  yet  with  such  vibrant  force. 

"After  that,"  Ray  continued,  "came  Egypt,  then 
India,  and  afterwards  Khartoum.  I  came  home  before 
the  last  war,  and  I  met  Lady  Angela.  I  am  so  little  of 
a  woman's  man  that  I  suppose  the  girl  whom  I  thought 
of  at  all  became  like  an  angel,  a  creature  altogether 
apart  from  that  sex  of  whom  I  know  so  little.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  she  was  the  second  woman  to  hold 
any  place  in  my — ^heart — as  she  most  surely  will  be  the 
last.  Then  the  war  broke  out,  luck  came  my  way,  and 
I  returned  with  a  greater  reputation  than  I  deserved. 
The  very  night  of  my  return  I  asked  Lady  Angela  to 
marry  me,  and  she  consented." 

He  puffed  vigorously  at  his  pipe,  but  he  seemed 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  it  was  out.  His  face 
was  set  in  its  grimmest  lines.  He  looked  steadily  at 
a  certain  spot  in  the  fire,  and  went  on. 

"There  are  things,"  he  said,  "which  troubled  me 
little  at  the  time,  but  which  just  lately  have  been  on 
my  mind.  The  first  is  that  I  am  nearly  fifty,  and  Lady 
Angela  is  twenty-one.  The  second  is  that  I  came  home 
with  all  the   tinsel  and    glamour  of   a   popular   hero. 


^56  THE    BETRAYAL 

Heaven  knows  I  loathed  it,  but  the  fact  remains.  The 
King's  reception,  the  V.C.,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
I  suppose,  accounted  for  it.  Anyhow,  I  am  troubled 
with  this  reflection.  Lady  Angela  was  very  young,  and 
I  fear  that  her  imagination  was  touched.  She  accepted 
my  offer,  and  she  has  been  very  loyal.  Until  to-night 
no  word  of  disagreement  has  passed  between  us.  But 
there  have  been  times  lately  when  I  have  fancied  that 
I  have  noticed  a  change.  A  time  has  come  now  when 
I  could  give  her  back  her  freedom  without  reproach  on 
either  side.  I  want  to  know  whether  it  is  my  duty  to 
give  it  her  back." 

Then  Ray  looked  straight  into  my  face,  and  the 
colour  flamed  there,  for  I  saw  now  why  he  had  made 
me  his  confidant. 

"What  do  you  think,  Guy?  You  are  only  a  boy, 
but  you  are  of  her  age,  and  you  have  seen  a  little  of  her 
lately.  You  are  only  a  boy,  but  then  only  boys  and 
novelists  understand  women.  Speak  up  and  tell  me 
what  is  in  your  mind." 

"I  will  tell  you  this,"  I  answered  hotly.  "If  I  were 
you,  and  Lady  Angela  had  promised  to  be  my  wife, 
I  would  not  sit  and  hatch  scruples  about  marrying  her. 
I  would  marry  her  first,  and  make  her  happy  after- 
wards, and  as  for  the  rest — for  the  questions  which  you 
have  asked  me,  and  yet  not  put  into  words — ^I  have 
never  heard  or  seen  in  Lady  Angela  the  slightest  sign 
that  you  were  not  her  lover  as  well  as  the  man  whom 
she  was  engaged  to  marry.  As  for  my  own  folly,  since 
you  seem  to  have  noticed  it,  no  one  knows  better  than  I 
that  it  is  the  rankest,  most  absurd  presumption.     But 


MOSTYN   RAY'S    LOVE    STORY     257 

with  me  it  begins  and  ends.  That  is  a  most  absolute 
and  certain  fact." 

Ray  rapped  his  pipe  upon  the  table. 

*'Listen,"  he  said.  "I  found  you  nameless  and  prac- 
tically lost.  Yet  you  have  powerful  relatives,  and  your 
family  is  equal  to  the  Duke's.  There  may  be  money 
too  some  day.  Bear  these  things  in  mind.  Can  you 
repeat  what  you  have  said?" 

It  was  a  wild  dream — a  wonderful  one.  But,  before 
me  I  saw  the  stem  white  face  of  the  man,  eager  for 
his  share  of  happiness  after  all  these  magnificent  years 
of  dauntless  service.  I  forgot  my  own  distrust  of  him, 
his  coldness,  his  brutality.  I  remembered  only  those 
other  and  greater  things. 

"Even  were  I  in  such  a  position,"  I  said,  "it  would 
make  no  diiference.  I  am  sure  that  Lady  Angela  is 
loyal.  She  has  no  idea — ^and  it  is  not  worth  while  that 
she  should  have.'* 

"You  would  have  me  marry  her,  then?"  he  asked 
slowly. 

"There  is  only  one  thing,"  I  said,  taking  my  courage 
into  my  hands. 

"And  that?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"That,"  I  answered,  "lies  between  you  and  your  con- 
science." 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Wait  here,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  show  you  my 
justification.** 


CHAPTER   XXXI 
MY    FATHER'S    LETTER 

I  HEARD  Ray's  heavy  footsteps  ascending  the 
stairs  to  his  room.  In  a  few  moments  he  re- 
turned, bearing  in  his  hand  a  letter. 
"Guy,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "I  am  a  man 
who  is  slow  to  place  trust  in  any  one.  For  that  reason, 
and  perhaps  because  ignorance  was  better  for  you,  I 
have  told  you  little  of  the  events  of  that  night.  Now 
my  first  opinion  of  you  has  undergone  some  modifica- 
tions. You  are  stronger  than  I  thought,  you  have 
shown  faith  in  me  too,  or  I  should  not  be  here  practi- 
cally a  guest  under  your  roof  to-night.  Listen !  The 
man  whom  you  found  dead  in  the  marshes  was  not  your 
father!" 

I  was  not  surprised.     Always  I  had  doubted  it. 

"Who  was  he,  then.?"  I  asked  calmly. 

"When  your  father  went  mad  at  Gibraltar,"  Ray 
said,  "he  needed  help.  This  man,  Clery  by  name,  sup- 
plied it.  When  I  knew  them  both  he  was  your  father's 
valet.  Since  then  he  has  been  his  confederate  in  many 
schemes.  Your  father  on  many  occasions  manifested 
the  remnants  of  a  sense  of  honour.  This  creature  set 
himself  deliberately  and  successfully  to  corrupt  it.     He 


MY    FATHER'S     LETTER  859 

was  a  parasite,  a  nerveless,  bloodless  thing  without  a 
single  human  attribute.  He  and  that  woman  were  alike 
responsible  for  your  father's  ruined  life.*' 

"Once  before,"  Ray  continued,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "I  had  told  him  that  if  ever  we  should  meet  where 
his  life  would  cost  me  nothing,  I  would  kill  him  as  I 
would  set  my  heel  upon  an  adder — and  he  only  smiled 
as  though  I  had  paid  him  some  delicate  compliment. 
And  that  night,  Guy,  a  hundred  yards  from  your  cot- 
tage, he  sidled  up  to  me  in  that  lonely  road,  and  bade 
me  direct  him  to  the  abode  of  Mr.  Guy  Ducaine.  A 
moment  after  he  recognized  me." 

A  grim  smile  parted  Ray's  lips,  but  I  could  not  re- 
press a  shudder.  Invariably  at  any  reference  to  that 
awful  night  the  old  fear  came  back. 

"He  seemed  at  first  paralyzed  with  fear,"  Ray  con- 
tinued. "He  tried  to  slip  away  into  the  marshes,  but  I 
caught  him  easily,  and  held  him  so  that  he  could  not 
escape.  He  admitted  that  he  had  come  to  find  you  with 
a  message  from  your  father.  He  denied  at  first  having 
a  letter,  but  I  searched  him  until  I  found  it.  As  you 
see,  it  is  addressed  to  you.  Nevertheless  I  struck 
matches,  opened  it,  and  with  some  difl5culty  managed  to 
read  it.  All  the  time  this  creature  was  doubling  about 
like  an  eel  trying  to  get  away.     Read  the  letter." 

I  drew  it  from  the  envelope.  It  was  dated  from  the 
Savoy  Hotel. 

"My  Dear  Son, — I  do  not  deserve  that  you  should 
read  beyond  these  three  words.  I  have  as  little  right 
to  call  you  my  son  as  you  can  have  desire  to  claim  me  for 
your  father.    I  am  here,  however,  purely  on  an  errand 


260  THE    BETRAYAL 

of  justice.  I  have  learned  that  you  have  been  robbed 
of  the  sum  set  aside  to  give  you  a  start  in  life.  I  am 
here  to  endeavor  to  replace  it,  for  which  purpose  I  de- 
sire that  you  will  grant  me  a  business  interview  within 
the  next  few  days.  I  beg  your  reply  by  Clery,  my 
faithful  companion  and  servant.     I  am  known  here  as 

"Richard  Deew  Foster." 

I  laid  the  letter  down  without  remark.  Ray  had 
filled  his  pipe  whilst  I  had  been  reading,  and  was  sitting 
now  on  the  arm  of  his  easy  chair,  facing  me. 

"I  understood  the  letter  and  its  meaning,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  knew  that  the  whole  neighbourhood  was 
under  the  observation  of  the  French  Secret  Service,  and 
the  man  who  signed  himself  Richard  Drew  Foster  saw 
in  you  an  excellent  tool  ready  to  his  hand.  It  is  very 
certain  also  that  the  matter  would  probably  have  pre- 
sented itself  to  you  in  a  wholly  different  light.  Accord- 
ingly, I  placed  the  letter  in  my  own  pocket,  and  I 
released  my  hold  of  Clery. 

"  *You  can  go  back  to  your  master,'  I  said,  'and  tell 
him  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  that  I  have  his  letter. 
It  will  be  sufficient.  And  you  can  tell  him  that  I  shall 
be  in  London  to-morrow  night,  and  if  any  such  person 
as  Mr.  Drew  Foster  is  staying  at  the  Savoy  Hotel,  he 
will  know  the  inside  of  a  military  prison  before  mid- 
night.' 

"The  man  slunk  away.  I  suppose  he  realized  that 
with  me  in  the  way  their  game  was  up.  But  afterwards 
he  must  have  hesitated,  and  then  made  up  his  mind  to 
attempt  what  was  probably  the  bravest  action  of  his 
life.     He  followed  me,  stole  up  softly  behind,  and  with 


MY    FATHER'S    LETTER  261 

an  old  trick  which  they  teach  them  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Seine,  he  as  nearly  as  possible  throttled  me.  How- 
ever, I  got  my  finger  inside  the  slipknot,  and  I  held  him 
by  the  throat.  When  I  could  breathe,  I  lifted  him  up 
and  threw  him  into  the  marshes.  There  I  left  him.  It 
seems  the  fall  killed  him.  That  is  the  whole  story.  It 
was  absolutely  God's  justice,  but  I  am  quite  aware  that 
the  laws  of  the  country  do  not  exactly  favour  such  sum- 
mary treatment.  Accordingly  I  held  my  peace.  I  am 
sorry  for  it  now." 

"And  Mr.  Drew  Foster?" 

"Had  left  the  Savoy  Hotel  when  I  reached  there," 
Ray  said  drily,  **and  had  omitted  to  leave  an  ad- 
dress." 

"You  might  have  trusted  me,"  I  remarked,  thought- 
fully. 

"If  I  had  known  you  as  well  then  as  I  do  now,"  Ray 
answered,  "I  would  have  risked  it." 

Then  as  we  sat  in  silence  there  came  a  low  tapping 
at  the  door.     Ray  looked  at  me  keenly. 

"Who  visits  you  at  this  hour?"  he  asked. 

"We  will  see,"  I  answered. 

I  had  meant  to  be  careful  whom  I  admitted,  but  I 
had  scarcely  withdrawn  the  latch  when  the  door  was 
pushed  open,  and  a  slim,  thickly-cloaked  figure  glided 
past  me  into  the  room.  I  knew  her  by  the  supple  swift- 
ness of  her  movements.  Ray  sat  still,  and  smoked  with 
the  face  of  a  Sphinx. 

I  think  that  at  first  she  did  not  see  him.  She  swept 
round  upon  me  and  raised  her  veil. 

"Guy,"  she  cried,  "forgive  me,  but  I  could  not  help 


262  THE    BETRAYAL 

it.  !lave  made  a  mummy  of  myself,  and  I  have 
walked  along  those  awful  sands  that  I  might  not  be 
seen;  but  there  is  a  question " 

She  saw  Ray.  The  words  died  from  her  lips.  She 
stood  and  shivered  like  a  trapped  bird.  He  removed  his 
pipe  from  his  teeth. 

"Gro  on,"  he  said  mildly.  "Don't  mind  me.  Per- 
haps I  can  help  Mr.  Ducaine  to  answer  it." 

She  sank  into  a  chair.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  implore 
me  to  protect  her.  I  heard  Ray's  little  snort  of  con- 
tempt ;  but  I  answered  her  kindly.    I  could  not  help  it. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  came,"  I  said,  "but,  of  course, 
I  will  answer  any  question  you  want  to  ask  me.  Don't 
hurry !  You  are  out  of  breath.  Let  me  give  you  some 
wine." 

My  own  untasted  liqueur  was  on  the  table  by  the  side 
of  my  empty  coffee  cup.  I  made  her  drink  it,  and  her 
teeth  ceased  to  chatter.  She  was  rather  a  pathetic 
object.  One  of  her  little  black  satin  slippers  was  cut  to 
shreds,  and  the  other  was  clogged  with  wet  sand.  The 
fear  of  Ray,  too,  was  in  her  white  face.  She  caught 
hold  of  my  hand  impulsively. 

"The  man,"  she  murmured,  "whom  you  found — 
what  was  he  like?" 

*'He  was  a  small  dark  man." 

She  laughed  hysterically. 

**He,"  she  exclaimed,  "was  over  six  feet,  and  broad! 
It  was  not  he.  It  may  have  been  some  one  whom  he 
sent,  but  it  was  not  he.  Guy,  have  you  heard  from  him.? 
Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 

I  shook  my  head.    Ray  interposed. 


MY    FATHER'S    LETTER  263 

"I  think,"  he  said  roughly,  "that  you'll  find  him  at 
home  when  you  get  there,  madam,  wherever  that  may 
be.  If  he  were  in  this  country  it  would  be  within  the 
four  walls  of  a  prison." 

She  looked  across  at  him. 

"You  have  set  them  on — ^the  police — ^then .?"  she  said. 
"You  would  hunt  him  down  still.?  After  all  these 
years  ?^^ 

"Ay !"  he  answered.  "Tell  me  where  he  is  hiding  in 
this  country,  and  I  will  promise  you  that  his  days  of 
freedom  are  over." 

She  pointed  to  me. 

"His  father.?" 

"Ay,  were  he  his  father  a  hundred  times  over." 

She  turned  to  me  as  though  in  protest,  but  my  face 
gave  her  no  encouragement.  She  rose  wearily  to  her 
feet. 

"I  will  go,"  she  muttered.  "Guy,"  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  me,  "you  are  honest.  You  will  always  be  honest. 
You  have  nothing  to  fear,  so  you  do  not  hesitate  to 
speak  if  necessary  to  those  whom  nevertheless  you  do 
not  trust.  But  there  are  other  things  in  the  world  to 
fear  besides  dishonesty.  There  is  animal  brutality, 
coarse  indifference  to  pain  in  others.  There  is  the 
triumph  of  the  beast  over  the  man.  There  he  sits,  he 
who  can  teach  you  these  things,'*  she  added,  pointing 
to  Ray.  "Do  not  choose  him  for  your  friend,  Guy. 
You  will  grow  to  see  life,  to  judge  others,  through  his 
eyes — and  then  God  help  you." 

Ray  laughed,  and  again  to  me  there  seemed  to  be  a 
note  of  coarseness  in  his  strident  and  unconcealed  con- 


264.  THE    BETRAYAL 

tempt  of  the  woman.  She  took  no  notice  of  him  what- 
ever. She  opened  the  door  and  passed  out  so  quickly 
that  though  I  tried  to  intercept  her,  and  called  out  after 
her,  I  was  powerless  to  prevent  her  going.  She  had 
flitted  away  into  the  shadows.  I  could  not  even  hear  her 
retrepting  footsteps. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 
A    PAINFUL    ENCOUNTER 

MORE  work.  A  week  of  It,  ceaseless  and  un- 
remitting. The  police  seemed  to  have 
abandoned  their  watch  over  my  cottage, 
and  I  heard  a  whisper  that  a  statement  by 
the  Duke  had  at  any  rate  partially  cleared  me  from 
suspicion.  Ray  had  declined  to  leave  England.  I  knew 
quite  well  that  it  was  on  my  account.  He,  with  the 
others,  was  now  in  London. 

Then  came  my  own  summons  thither.  I  was  told  to 
report  myself  immediately  on  arrival  at  Rowchester 
House,  and  to  my  surprise  was  informed  by  the  servant 
who  answered  my  inquiries  that  a  room  was  reserved  for 
me  there.  I  had  no  sooner  reached  it  than  Lady 
Angela's  own  maid  arrived  with  a  message.  Her  lady- 
ship would  be  glad  if  I  could  spare  her  a  few  moments 
in  the  drawing-room  as  soon  as  possible. 

Lady  Angela  was  standing  upon  the  hearthrug.  I 
stepped  a  little  way  across  the  threshold  and  stopped 
short.    She  held  out  her  hand  to  me  with  a  quiet  laugh. 

"Have  you  forgotten  me?"  she  asked,  "or  am  I  so 
alarming?" 

I  set  my  te«th  and  moved  towards  her. 


266  THE    BETRAYAL 

"You  took  my  breath  away,"  I  said,  with  an  ease 
which  I  was  very  far  from  feeling.  "Remember  that 
I  have  come  from  Braster." 

I  do  not  know  what  she  wore.  Her  gown  seemed  to 
me  to  be  of  some  soft  crepe  or  silk,  and  the  colour  of  it 
was  a  smoky  misty  blue.  There  were  pearls  around  her 
neck,  and  her  hair,  arranged  with  exquisite  simplicity, 
seemed  to  be  drawn  back  from  her  face  and  arranged 
low  down  on  the  back  of  her  neck.  She  had  still  the 
fresh  delightful  colour  which  had  been  in  her  cheeks 
when  she  left  Braster,  and  the  smile  with  which  she  wel- 
comed me  was  as  delightful  as  ever. 

"This  is  a  charming  arrangement,"  she  declared. 
"You  know  that  you  are  such  an  important  person,  and 
have  to  be  watched  so  closely,  that  you  are  to  stay  here. 
I  went  up  myself  with  the  housekeeper  to  see  to  your 
rooms.    I  do  hope  that  you  will  be  comfortable." 

"Comfortable  is  not  the  word,"  I  answered.  "I  have 
never  been  used  to  such  luxury." 

She  laughed. 

"Dear  me!"  she  said.  "I  have  so  much  to  tell  you, 
and  the  carriage  is  waiting  already.  Thank  goodness 
we  dine  alone  to-morrow  night.  But  there  is  one  thing 
which  I  must  tell  you  at  once.  Sir  Michael  Trogoldy  is 
in  town,  you  know.  He  took  me  in  to  dinner  at  Am- 
berley  House  last  night,  and  we  talked  about  you." 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Sir  Michael  a  few  days  ago,"  I 
answered.  "He  made  a  proposition  to  me — and  asked 
me  to  call  and  see  him." 

Something  in  my  voice,  I  suppose,  betrayed  my  feel- 
ings.    She  laid  her  hand  upon  my  arm. 


A    PAINFUL    ENCOUNTER         267 

**Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "I  do  hope  that  you  mean 
to  be  reasonable.     Sir  Michael  is  a  dear  old  man." 

"He  is  my  mother's  brother,"  I  answered,  "and  he 
left  me  to  starve." 

"He  had  not  the  least  idea,"  she  declared,  "that  you 
were  not  reasonably  well  off.  He  is  most  interested  in 
hearing  about  you,  and  he  was  delighted  to  have  you 
accept  the  allowance  he  offered  you.  You  will  go  and 
see  him.'*" 

"Yes,  I  shall  go,"  I  promised.  "I  scarcely  see  the 
use  of  it,  but  I  will  go." 

"You  must  not  be  foolish,"  she  said  softly.  "Sir 
Michael  is  very  rich,  and  you  are  his  only  near  relative. 
Besides,  you  have  had  such  a  lonely  time,  and  it  is  quite 
time  that  you  saw  a  little  of  the  other  side  of  life.  Sir 
Michael  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  and  I  promised 
him  that  I  would  talk  to  you  about  this.  I  am  most 
anxious  to  hear  that  you  get  on  well  together.  You 
can  be  amiable  if  you  like,  you  know,  and  you  can  be 
very  much  the  other  thing." 

"I  will  try,"  I  assured  her,  "not  to  be  the  other 
thing." 

She  smiled. 

"And  tell  me  all  about  Braster." 

"There  Is  not  much  to  tell,"  I  answered.  "I  have 
been  hard  at  work  all  the  time,  and  I  have  scarcely  seen 
a  soul." 

"The  woman — Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  ?" 

"She  felt  Braster  before  you.  I  have  not  seen  her 
since  the  evening  of  the  day  I  saw  her  last." 

She  appeared  relieved. 


268  THE    BETRAYAL 

"May  I  ask  you  a  question?"  I  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"About  Colonel  Ray.    Has  the  Duke  forgiven  him  ?*' 

"On  the  contrary,  he  is  more  bitter  than  ever,"  Lady 
Angela  answered.  "I  have  seen  him  once  or  twice  only. 
He  does  not  come  here." 

"I  saw  in  the  paper,"  I  said,  "that  your  engage- 
ment  " 

"It  is  not  true,"  she  interrupted.  "Everything  is  as 
it  was.  But  it  is  shockingly  indefinite,  of  course.  I 
scarcely  know  whether  I  am  to  consider  myself  an  en- 
gaged person  or  not.  Colonel  Ray  offered  to  release 
me,  but  we  agreed  to  wait  for  a  little  time." 

"Lady  Angela!" 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  soft  flush  upon  her  cheeks. 
But  my  words  were  never  spoken.  The  Duke  entered 
the  room,  brilliant  in  sash  and  orders, 

"Good  evening,  Ducaine,"  he  said,  looking  at  me 
with  slightly  lifted  eyebrows. 

"Good  evening,  your  Grace,"  I  answered  in  some 
embarrassment. 

"I  sent  for  Mr.  Ducaine,"  Lady  Angela  remarked, 
stooping  that  her  maid,  who  had  followed  the  Duke, 
might  arrange  her  cloak.  **I  wanted  to  hear  all  about 
Braster,  and  I  had  a  message  for  him  from  Sir  Michael 
Trogoldy." 

The  Duke  made  no  remark. 

**I  shall  require  you,  Ducaine,  at  ten  o'clock  to-mor- 
row morning  in  my  study,"  he  said.  "Afterwards  we 
go  over  to  the  War  Office.  You  have  brought  all  the 
papers  with  you? — If  you  are  quite  ready,  Angela." 


A    PAINFUL    ENCOUNTER  269 

The  Duke,  without  saying  a  word,  had  managed  to 
make  me  feel  that  he  considered  my  presence  in  the 
drawing-room  with  Lady  Angela  superfluous,  but  her 
smile  and  farewell  were  quite  sufficient  recompense  for 
me.  Still,  I  knew  that  this  living  together  under  the 
same  roof  was  to  be  no  unmixed  blessing  for  me.  I  shut 
myself  in  the  dainty  little  sitting-room  which  I  was  told 
was  mine,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  door.  I  felt  the 
need  of  solitude. 

•  «««•«* 

Later  in  the  evening  I  became  mundane  again.  I 
remembered  that  I  had  sent  dinner  away,  and  though  I 
had  only  to  ring  the  bell  and  order  something,  I  felt 
the  need  of  fresh  air.  So  I  took  up  my  hat  and  stick 
and  left  the  house. 

After  a  while  I  found  my  way  into  Piccadilly.  I 
knew  very  little  of  London,  but  after  my  solitary  even- 
ing walks  at  Braster  along  the  sandhills  and  across  the 
marshes,  the  contrast  was  in  itself  suggestive  and  almost 
exciting.  I  watched  the  people,  the  stream  of  car- 
riages. I  listened  to  the  low  ceaseless  hum  of  this 
wonderful  life,  and  I  found  it  fascinating.  The  glow 
in  the  sky  was  marvellous  to  me — the  faces  of  the 
passers-by,  the  laughter  and  the  whining,  the  tears  and 
the  cursing,  the  pleasure-seekers  and  the  pleasure- 
satiated,  how  they  all  told  their  story  as  they  swept  by 
in  one  unceasing  stream !  For  a  while  I  forgot  even  my 
appetite.  The  sight  of  a  restaurant,  however,  at  last 
reminded  me  that  I  was  desperately  hungry. 

I  knew  it  by  name — a  huge  cosmopolitan  place  of 
the  lower  middle  class,  and   entering   I  found  a  quiet 


270  THE    BETRAYAL 

seat,  where  my  country  clothes  were  not  conspicuous. 
There  were  few  people  about  me,  and  those  few  unin- 
teresting, so  I  kept  my  attention  divided  between  my 
dinner  and  the  evening  paper.  But  just  as  I  was  draw- 
ing towards  the  close  of  my  meal,  something  happened 
to  change  all  that. 

A  woman,  followed  by  a  man,  passed  my  table,  and 
the  two  seated  themselves  diagonally  opposite  to  me. 
Something  in  the  woman's  light  footsteps,  her  free 
movements,  and  the  graceful  carriage  of  her  head, 
struck  me  instantly  as  being  familiar.  She  was  dressed 
very  plainly,  and  she  was  closely  veiled.  Their  en- 
trance, too,  had  been  unobtrusive,  almost  furtive.  But 
when  she  raised  her  veil  and  took  the  carte-du-jour  in 
her  hand,  I  knew  her  at  once.  It  was  Mrs.  Smith- 
Lessing. 

She  had  not  seen  me,  and  my  first  impulse  was  to 
pay  my  bill  and  step  quietly  out.  Then  by  chance  I 
glanced  at  her  companion,  and  my  heart  stood  still.  He 
was  a  tall  man,  over  six  feet,  but  he  stooped  badly, 
and  his  walk  had  been  almost  the  walk  of  an  invalid. 
He  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had  once  been 
stout  and  well  built,  but  who  was  now  barely  recovered 
from  a  long  illness.  The  flesh  hung  in  little  bags 
underneath  his  bloodshot  eyes,  his  mouth  twitched  con- 
tinually, and  the  hand  which  rested  on  the  table 
trembled.  He  wore  a  scanty  grey  moustache,  which 
failed  to  hide  a  weak  thin  mouth,  and  a  very  obvious 
wig  concealed  his  baldness.  His  clothes  had  seen  plenty 
of  service  and  his  linen  was  doubtful.  He  had  evidently 
ordered  some  brandy  immediately  on  his  entrance,  and 


A    PAINFUL    ENCOUNTER         271 

his  eyes  met  mine  just  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  raising 
the  glass  to  his  lips.  I  am  convinced  that  he  had  no 
idea  then  who  I  was,  but  the  earnestness  of  my  gaze 
seemed  to  disturb  him.  He  set  down  his  glass  with 
shaking  fingers,  and  directed  his  companion's  attention 
towards  me. 

They  talked  together  earnestly  for  several  moments. 
I  fancied  that  she  was  reproving  him  for  showing  alarm 
at  my  notice.  Very  soon,  however,  she  herself,  after 
giving  an  order  to  a  waiter,  turned  slightly  round  in 
her  chair,  and  glanced  with  well-afFected  carelessness 
across  at  me.  I  saw  her  start  and  look  apprehensively 
at  her  companion.  He  took  the  alarm  at  once,  and  I 
heard  his  eager  question. 

"Who  is  it.?    Who  is  it,  Maud?" 

She  made  him  some  reassuring  answer,  and,  rising 
to  her  feet,  came  over  to  my  table.  I  rose  to  greet  her, 
and  she  slipped  quietly  into  the  chair  opposite  to 
me. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked 
quickly. 

"I  have  just  arrived  from  Braster,"  I  answered.  "I 
came  here  by  accident  to  get  something  to  eat.  Is 
that " 

I  could  not  go  on,  but  she  finished  the  sentence  for 
me. 

"Yes !" 

I  set  my  teeth  hard  and  looked  steadily  down  at  the 
tablecloth.  I  felt  rather  than  saw  that  her  regard  was 
compassionate. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  murmured.     "I  would  not  have 


272  THE    BETRAYAL 

brought  him  here  if  I  had  known.  You  two  are  better 
apart.  TaEc  to  me  as  naturally  as  you  can.  He  has 
no  idea  who  you  are." 

"Has  he  been  ill?"  I  asked. 

"Very.  I  found  him  in  a  hospital.  He  has  been  ill, 
and  the  rest  you  can  guess." 

Even  while  we  were  talking  I  saw  him  toss  off  another 
glass  of  brandy  which  the  waiter  had  brought  him. 
And  all  the  time  his  eyes  never  left  my  face. 

*'I  thought,"  I  said,  "that  he  had  money." 

"It  has  all  gone,"  she  answered,  "and — well,  things 
are  not  very  flourishing  with  hira.  Our  mission  over 
here  has  been  unsuccessful,  and  they  have  stopped 
sending  us  money  from  Paris.  How  queer  that  I  should 
be  telling  you  this !"  she  added,  with  a  hard  little  laugh, 
**you,  of  all  people  in  the  world.  Guy,  take  my  advice. 
Get  up  and  go.  If  he  guesses  who  you  are  he  will  come 
and  speak  to  you — and  you  are  better  apart." 

It  was  too  late.  With  fascinated  eyes  I  watched 
him  leave  his  place  and  come  towards  us.  I  was  abso- 
lutely powerless  to  move.  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  had  left 
the  outside  chair  vacant.  He  sank  into  it  and  leaned 
across  the  table  towards  me. 

"It  is  Guy,"  he  said  in  a  shaking  voice.  **I  am  sure 
that  it  is  Guy.     She  has  told  you  who  I  am.     Eh.?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered.    "I  know  who  you  are." 

He  extended  a  shaking  hand  across  the  table.  I  could 
not  take  it. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  nervously,  "perhaps  you  are 
right.  But  I  came  to  England  to  see  you.  Yes,  Guy, 
that  is  the  truth !     I  have  been  a  bad  father,  but  I  may 


A    PAINFUL    ENCOUNTER         273 

be  able  to  make  amends.  I  think  I  know  a  way. — • 
Waiter,  a  glass  of  brandy." 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said,  rising  to  my  feet,  "that  you 
must  excuse  me.  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me, 
sir,  we  can  meet  another  time." 

He  almost  dragged  me  down. 

"Stop,  stop!"  he  said  irritably.  "You  do  not  seem 
to  understand.  I  had  an  important  matter  of  business 
to  discuss  with  you.  I  may  make  your  fortune  yet,  my 
boy !     I  have  powerful  friends  abroad,  very  powerful." 

I  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"Well?" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  whispered  In  his 
ear.     He  only  shook  his  head  angrily. 

"Nonsense,  Maud!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  do  not  un- 
derstand. This  is  my  son  Guy.  Of  course  we  must 
talk  together.  It  is  a  wonderful  meeting — yes,  a  won- 
derful meeting." 

"Well.?"  I  repeated. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear,"  he  continued,  "that  you  are 
holding  such  an  Important  position.  Clerk  to  the 
Military  Defence  Board,  eh?  Quite  an  important  po- 
sition, of  course ;  but  it  might  be  made — yes,  with  care, 
it  might  be  made,"  he  added,  watching  me  with  nervous 
alertness,  *'a  very  lucrative  one." 

"I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my  salary,"  I  remarked 
calmly. 

"Pooh !  my  dear  boy,  that  is  nonsense,"  he  continued. 
**You  do  not  understand  me.  It  is  an  open  secret.  Maud, 
are  we  overheard  here,  do  you  think.?  Is  it  safe  to 
discuss  an  important  matter  with  Guy  here.?" 


«74  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  rose  to  my  feet  and  took  up  my  hat.  Again  she 
whispered  in  his  ear,  and  this  time  he  seemed  to  assent. 

"Quite  right!  Quite  right!"  he  said,  nodding  his 
head.  "Guy,  my  boy,  you  shall  come  and  see  us.  No. 
29,  Bloomsbury  Street — poor  rooms,  but  our  remit- 
tances have  gone  astray,  and  I  have  been  ill.  To- 
morrow, eh?  or  the  next  day.''  We  shall  expect  you, 
Guy.  We  do  not  go  out  except  in  the  evenings.  You 
will  not  fail,  Guy.?" 

I  looked  down  into  his  flushed  face.  His  lips  were 
shaking,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  anxiously  upon  mine. 
I  was  miserably  ashamed  and  unhappy. 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  care  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say,"  I  answered.     "But  I  will  come  to  see  you." 

I  left  them  there.  As  I  went  out  she  was  gently 
countermanding  his  order  for  more  brandy. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 
THE     DUKE'S    MESSAGE 

IT  was  late,  but  I  felt  that  I  must  see  Ray.  I 
went  to  his  house,  little  expecting  to  find  him 
there.  I  was  shown,  however,  into  the  study, 
where  he  was  hard  at  work  with  a  pile  of  cor- 
respondence. He  wore  an  ancient  shooting  jacket,  and 
his  feet  were  encased  in  slippers.  As  usual,  his  pipe 
was  between  his  teeth,  and  the  tobacco  smoke  hung  about 
him  in  little  clouds. 

"Well,"  he  said  gruffly.  "What  do  you  want  of  me? 
I  am  busy.     Speak  to  the  point." 

"I  have  come  to  ask  your  advice,"  I  said.  "I  am 
afraid  that  I  must  resign  my  post." 

"Why.?" 

"My  father  is  in  London.  I  have  seen  and  spoken 
with  him." 

"With  that  woman?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  spoken  to  him  in  a  public  place,  per- 
haps?" 

"Yes." 


276  THE    BETRAYAL 

Ray  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  looked  at  me 
keenly. 

"Do  you  want  to  give  it  up.?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "But  do  you  suppose  Lord 
Chelsford  and  the  others  would  be  willing  for  me  to 
continue — under  the  circumstances  ?" 

"Probably  not,"  he  admitted.  "The  Duke  would  not, 
at  any  rate." 

"Then  what  am  I  to  do.?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know!"  he  answered  shortly.  **It  requires 
consideration.  I  will  see  Lord  Chelsford.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  in  the  morning." 

That  was  all  the  consolation  I  had  from  Colonel 
Mostyn  Ray. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  Duke  came  to 
me  in  the  study,  where  I  was  already  at  work.  He  was 
looking,  even  for  him,  particularly  trim  and  smart,  and 
he  wore  a  carefully-selected  pink  rosebud  in  his  button- 
hole. His  greeting  was  almost  cordial.  He  gave  me  a 
few  instructions,  and  then  lit  a  cigarette. 

"What  is  this  about  your  resignation,  Ducaine?"  he 
asked. 

**I  do  not  wish  to  resign,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I  have 
explained  certain  circumstances  to  Colonel  Ray,  which 
it  seemed  to  me  might  make  my  resignation  necessary. 
He  promised  to  confer  with  Lord  Chelsford,  and  let  me 
know  the  result." 

The  urbanity  slowly  faded  from  the  Duke's  face. 

"I  am  your  employer,"  he  said  coldly.  "I  do  not 
understand  why  you  thought  it  necessary  to  go  to 
Colonel  Ray." 


THE    DUKE'S    MESSAGE  277 

**It  was  entirely  owing  to  Colonel  Ray,  sir,"  I  an- 
swered, "that  I  received  the  appointment,  and  he  has 
practically  made  himself  responsible  for  me." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  the  Duke  answered.  "The  re- 
sponsibility is  shared  by  all  of  us.  Your  unfortunate 
family  history  was  known  to  the  whole  Board." 

"Then  I  am  less  indebted  to  Colonel  Ray,  sir,  than  I 
imagined,"  I  answered.  "I  am  very  glad,  however,  that 
it  is  known.  Perhaps  Lord  Chelsford  may  not  con- 
sider my  resignation  necessary?" 

"The  circumstances  being ?" 

"I  have  seen  and  spoken  with  my  father  in  London," 
I  answered. 

The  Duke  was  silent. 

"I  presume,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "that  you 
must  yourself  realize  the  indiscretion  of  this." 

"I  went  at  once  to  Colonel  Ray  and  offered  my 
resignation,"  I  answered. 

The  Duke  nodded. 

*'Your  father,"  he  said  slowly,  **is  in  London?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Alone?" 

I  hesitated.  Yet  perhaps  the  Duke  had  a  right  to 
know  the  truth. 

"He  is  with  the  lady  who  occupied  Braster  Grange, 
sir,  until  last  week,"  I  answered.  "She  passed  under 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  but  I  believe  that  she 
is  in  reality  my  stepmother." 

The  Duke  stood  a  few  paces  from  me,  looking  out  of 
the  window.  He  held  his  cigarette  between  his  fingers, 
and  he  stood  sideways  to  me.     Nothing  about  his  atti- 


278  THE    BETRAYAL 

tude  or  face  was  unusual.  Yet  I  felt  myself  watching 
him  curiously.  There  was  something  about  his  manner 
which  seemed  to  me  to  suggest  some  powerful  emotion 
only  kept  in  check  by  the  exercise  of  a  strong  will. 

**This  is  the  person,  I  believe,"  he  said  in  a  slow 
measured  tone,  **with  whom  my  son.  Lord  Blenavon,  was 
said  to  have  been  intimate.'"' 

*'Lord  Blenavon  was  certainly  a  constant  visitor  at 
Braster  Grange,"  I  answered. 

"You  know  her  address  in  London?"  the  Duke 
asked. 

"Yes." 

He  turned  and  faced  me.  He  was  certainly  paler 
than  he  had  been  a  few  minutes  ago. 

"I  should  be  glad,"  he  said,  "if  you  would  arrange 
for  me  to  have  an  interview  with  her." 

"An  interview  with  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing !"  I  repeated 
incredulously. 

The  Duke  inclined  his  head. 

**There  are  a  few  questions,"  he  said,  **which  I  wish 
to  ask  her." 

'*I  can  give  you  her  address,"  I  said. 

*'I  wish  you  to  see  her  and  arrange  for  the  interview 
personally,"  the  Duke  answered. 

"You  will  see  that  my  visiting  her  does  not  prejudice 
me  further  with  the  Board,  sir?"  I  ventured  to  say. 

"You  can  take  that  for  granted,"  the  Duke  said. 

So  that  afternoon  I  called  at  No.  29,  Bloomsbury 
Street,  and  in  a  shabby  back  room  of  a  gloomy,  smoke- 
begrimed  lodging-house  I  found  my  father  and  Mrs. 
Smith-Lessing.     He  was  lying  upon  a  horsehair  sofa, 


THE    DUKE'S    MESSAGE  279 

apparently  dozing.  She  was  gazing  negligently  out  of 
the  window,  and  drumming  upon  the  window  pane  with 
her  fingers.  My  arrival  seemed  to  act  like  an  electric 
shock  upon  both  of  them.  It  struck  me  that  to  her  it 
was  not  altogether  welcome,  but  my  father  was  ner- 
vously anxious  to  impress  upon  me  his  satisfaction  at 
my  visit. 

"Now,"  he  said,  drawing  his  chair  up  to  the  table, 
**we  can  discuss  this  little  matter  in  a  business-like  way. 
I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Guy,  quite  delighted." 

"What  matter?"  I  asked  quietly. 

My  father  coughed  and  looked  towards  my  step- 
mother, as  though  for  guidance.  But  her  face  was  a 
blank. 

"Guy,"  he  said,  "I  am  sure  that  you  are  a  young 
man  of  common  sense.  You  will  prefer  that  I  speak  to 
you  plainly.  There  are  some  fools  at  our  end — I  mean 
at  Paris — who  think  they  will  be  better  off  for  a  glance 
at  the  doings  of  your  Military  Board.  Up  to  now  we 
have  kept  them  supplied  with  a  little  general  informa- 
tion. Lord  Blenavon,  who  is  a  remarkably  sensible 
young  man,  lent  us  his  assistance.  I  tell  you  this  quite 
frankly.     I  believe  that  it  is  best." 

He  was  watching  me  furtively.  I  did  my  best  to 
keep  my  features  immovable. 

"With  Lord  Blenavon's  assistance,"  my  father  con- 
tinued, "we  did  at  first  very  well.  Since  his — er — 
departure  we  have  not  been  so  fortunate,  I  will  be 
quite  candid.  We  have  not  succeeded  at  all.  Our 
friends  pay  generously,  but  they  pay  by  results.  As  a 
consequence  your  stepmother  and  I  are  nearly  penniless. 


280  THE    BETRAYAL 

This  fact  induces  me  to  make  you  a  special — a  very 
special — offer. " 

My  stepmother  seemed  about  to  speak.  She  checked 
herself,  however. 

"Go  on,"  I  said. 

My  father  coughed.  There  was  a  bottle  upon  the 
table,  and  he  helped  himself  from  it. 

"My  nerves,"  he  remarked,  "are  in  a  shocking  state 
this  morning.     Can  I  offer  you  anything,?" 

I  shook  my  head.  My  father  poured  out  nearly  a 
glass  full  of  the  raw  spirit,  diluted  it  with  a  little,  a 
very  little,  water,  and  drank  it  off. 

*'Your  labours,  my  dear  boy,"  he  continued,  "I  refer, 
of  course,  to  the  labours  of  the  Military  Council,  are, 
I  believe,  concentrated  upon  a  general  scheme  of  de- 
fence against  any  possible  invasion  on  the  part  of 
France.  Quite  a  scare  you  people  seem  to  be  in.  Not 
that  one  can  wonder  at  it.  These  military  manoeuvres 
of  our  friends  across  the  water  are  just  a  little  obvious 
even  to  John  Bull,  eh?  You  don't  answer.  Quite  right, 
quite  right!  Never  commit  yourself  uselessly.  It  is 
very  good  diplomacy.  Let  me  see,  where  was  I.''  Ah! 
The  general  scheme  of  defence  is,  of  course,  known  to 
you?" 

"Naturally,"  I  admitted. 

"With  a  list  of  the  places  to  be  fortified,  eh?  The 
positions  to  be  held  and  the  general  distribution  of 
troops?  No  doubt,  too,  you  have  gone  into  the  railway 
and  commissariat  arrangements  ?" 

"All  these  details,"  I  assented,  "have  gone  through 
my  hands." 


THE     DUKE'S    MESSAGE  281 

He  dabbed  his  forehead  with  a  corner  of  his  hand- 
kerchief. There  was  a  streak  of  purple  colour  in  his 
cheeks.    He  kept  his  bloodshot  eyes  fixed  upon  me. 

"I  will  tell  you  something,  Guy,"  he  said,  "which  will 
astonish  you.  You  realize  for  yourself,  of  course,  that 
such  details  as  you  have  spoken  of  can  never  be  kept 
altogether  secret.''  There  are  always  leakages,  some- 
times very^  considerable  leakages.  Yes,  Guy,"  he  added, 
"there  are  people,  friends  of  mine  in  Paris,  who  are 
willing  to  pay  a  verj'^  large  sum  of  money — such  a  large 
sum  of  money  that  it  is  worth  dividing,  Guy — for  just 
a  bare  outline  of  the  whole  scheme.  Foolish!  Of 
course  it  is  foolish.  But  with  them  money  is  no  object. 
They  think  they  are  getting  value  for  it.  Absurd! 
But,  Guy,  what  should  you  say  to  five  thousand 
pounds .?" 

"It  is  a  large  sum,"  I  answered. 

He  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve.  His  eyes  were  hunger- 
ing already  for  the  gold. 

"We  can  get  it,"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "No 
trouble  to  you — ^no  risk.  I  can  make  all  the  arrange- 
ments.   You  have  only  to  hand  me  the  documents." 

*'I  must  think  it  over,"  I  said. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Why.?"  he  asked.  "What  need  is  there  to  hesitate.? 
The  chance  may  slip  by.  There  are  many  others  on  the 
look  out." 

**There  is  no  one  outside  the  Military  Board  save 
myself  who  could  give  these  particulars,"  I  said 
slowly. 

"But  my  friends,"  he  said  sharply.     "Theirs  is  a 


28«  THE    BETRAYAL 

foolish  offer.  They  may  change  their  minds.  Guy, 
my  boy,  I  know  the  world  well.  Let  me  give  you  a  word 
of  advice.  When  a  good  thing  turns  up,  don't  play 
with  it.  The  men  who  decide  quickly  are  the  men  who 
do  things." 

I  thrust  my  hand  into  my  breast-pocket  and  drew  out 
a  roll  of  papers. 

"Supposing  I  have  already  decided,"  I  said. 

His  eyes  gleamed  with  excitement.  He  almost 
snatched  at  the  papers,  but  I  held  them  out  of  his  reach. 
Then  with  a  sharp  little  cry  the  woman  stood  suddenly 
between  us.  There  was  a  look  almost  of  horror  on  her 
pale  strained  face,  as  she  held  out  her  hand  as  though  to 
push  me  away. 

"Guy,  are  you  mad.?"  she  cried. 

The  veins  stood  out  upon  my  father's  forehead.  He 
regarded  her  with  mingled  anger  and  surprise. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Maud.?"  he  exclaimed.  "How 
dare  you  interfere.?     Guy,  give  me  the  papers." 

"He  shall  not!"  she  exclaimed  fiercely.  "Guy,  have 
you  lost  your  senses.?  Do  you  want  to  ruin  your  whole 
life.?" 

*'Do  you  mean,"  I  asked  incredulously,  "that  you  do 
not  wish  me  to  join  you.?" 

"Join  us!  For  Heaven's  sake,  no!"  she  answered 
fiercely.  "Look  at  your  father,  an  outcast  all  his  life. 
Do  you  want  to  become  like  him  ?  Do  you  want  to  turn 
the  other  way  whenever  you  meet  an  Englishman,  to 
skulk  all  your  days  in  hiding,  to  be  the  scorn  even  of 
the  men  who  employ  you?  Guy,  I  would  sooner  see 
you  dead  than  part  with  those  papers." 


THE     DUKE'S    MESSAGE  283 

"You  damned  fool !"  my  father  muttered.  "Take  no 
notice  of  her,  Guy.  Five  thousand  pounds !  I  will  see 
it  paid  to  you,  every  penny  of  it.  And  not  a  soul  will 
ever  know!" 

My  father  stood  over  her,  and  there  was  a  threat  in 
his  face.  She  did  not  shrink  from  him  for  a  moment. 
She  laid  her  white  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and  she 
looked  earnestly  into  my  eyes. 

"Guy,"  she  said,  "even  now  I  do  not  believe  that  you 
meant  to  be  so  very,  very  foolish.  But  I  want  you  to 
go  away  at  once.  You  should  never  have  come.  It  is 
not  good  for  you  to  come  near  either  of  us." 

I  rose  obediently.  I  think  that  if  I  had  not  been 
there  my  father  would  have  struck  her.  He  was  almost 
speechless  with  fury.  He  poured  himself  out  another 
glass  of  brandy  with  shaking  fingers. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said  to  her,  simply.  "I  do  not  think 
that  these  papers  are  worth  five  thousand.  Let  me  tell 
you  what  I  came  here  for.  I  am  a  messenger  from  the 
Duke  of  Rowchester." 

My  father  dropped  his  glass.  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing 
looked  bewildered. 

"The  Duke,"  I  said  to  her,  "desires  to  see  you.  Can 
you  come  to  Cavendish  Square  this  afternoon.?" 

"The  Duke?"  she  murmured. 

"He  wishes  to  see  you,"  I  repeated.  "Shall  I  tell  him 
that  you  will  call  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon,  or  will 
you  go  back  with  me?" 

"Do  you  mean  this  ?"  she  asked  in  a  low  tone.  "I  do 
not  understand  it.  I  have  never  seen  the  Duke  in  my 
life." 


284  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  understand  no  more  than  you  do,"  I  assured  her. 
"That  is  the  message." 

"I  do  not  promise  to  come,"  she  said.  "I  must  think 
it  over." 

My  father  pushed  her  roughly  away. 

"Come,  there's  been  enough  of  this  fooling,"  he  de- 
clared roughly.  "Guy,  sit  down  again,  my  boy.  We 
must  have  another  talk  about  this  matter." 

I  turned  upon  him  in  a  momentary  fit  of  passion. 

"I  have  no  more  to  say,  sir,"  I  declared.  "It  seems 
that  you  are  not  content  with  ruining  your  own  life 
and  overshadowing  mine.  You  want  to  drag  me,  too, 
down  into  the  slough." 

"You  don't  understand,  my  dear  boy!" 

The  door  opened  and  Ray  entered.  My  bundle  of 
papers  slipped  from  my  fingers  on  to  the  floor  in  the 
excitement  of  the  moment. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 
MYSELF   AND   MY  STEPMOTHER 

I  SAW  then  what  a  man's  face  may  look  like  when 
he  is  stricken  with  a  sudden  paralysing  fear. 
I  saw  my  father  sit  in  his  chair  and  shake  from 
head  to  foot.  Ray's  black  eyes  seemed  to  be 
flashing  upon  us  all  the  most  unutterable  scorn. 

"What  is  this  pleasant  meeting  which  I  seem  to  have 
interrupted,  eh?"  he  asked,  with  fierce  sarcasm.  "Quite 
a  family  reunion !" 

My  stepmother,  very  pale,  but  very  calm,  answered 
him. 

"To  which  you,"  she  said,  "come  an  uninvited 
guest." 

He  laughed  harshly. 

"You  shall  have  others,  other  uninvited  guests,  be- 
fore many  hours  are  past,"  he  declared.  "You  remem- 
ber my  warning,  Ducaine." 

My  father  seemed  to  me  to  be  on  the  eve  of  a  col- 
lapse. His  lips  moved,  and  he  mumbled  something,  but 
the  words  were  wholly  unintelligible.  Ray  turned  to 
my  stepmother. 

"When  that  man,"  he  continued,  "had  the  effrontery 


286  THE    BETRAYAL 

to  return  to  this  country,  he  sent  his  cursed  jackal  with 
letters  to  his  son.  I  intercepted  those  letters,  and  I 
burned  them;  but  I  came  straight  to  London,  and  I 
found  him  out.  I  told  him  then  that  I  spared  him  only 
for  the  sake  of  his  son.  I  told  him  that  if  ever  again 
he  attempted  in  any  way  to  communicate  with  him, 
personally  or  by  letter,  nothing  should  stay  my  hand. 
He  had  a  very  clear  warning.  He  has  chosen  to  defy 
me.  I  only  regret,  madam,  that  the  law  has  no  hold 
upon  you  also." 

She  turned  from  him  scornfully  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  my  father's  shoulder.  Her  very  touch  seemed  to 
impart  life  to  him.  His  words  were  not  very  coherent, 
but  they  were  comprehensible. 

"I  kept  my  word,  Ray.  Yes,  I  kept  my  word,"  he 
said.  "I  never  sent  for  him.  Ask  him ;  ask  her.  We 
met  by  accident.  I  told  him  my  address.  That  is  all. 
He  came  here  this  afternoon  with  a  message  from  the 
Duke." 

Ray  laughed  bitterly.  There  was  about  his  manner 
a  cold  and  singular  aloofness.  We  were  all  judged  and 
condemned. 

**An  invitation  to  dinner,  I  presume,"  he  remarked. 

"The  Duke  sent  for  me,"  my  stepmother  said, 
quietly. 

She  did  not  for  a  moment  quail  before  the  scornful 
disbelief  which  Ray  took  no  pains  to  hide. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself  if  you  like,"  she  continued, 
"that  in  a  few  minutes  I  shall  leave  this  house,  with  you, 
if  you  are  gallant  enough  to  offer  me  your  escort,  and 
I  shall  go  straight  to  Cavendish  Square.    You  have  no 


MYSELF  AND   MY  STEPMOTHER    287 

imagination,  Colonel  Ray,  or  you  would  not  be  so 
utterly  surprised.  Think  for  a  moment.  Does  no 
reason  occur  to  you  why  the  Duke  might  wish  to  see 
me.?" 

It  obviously  did.     He  frowned  heavily. 

"If  this  absurd  story  is  true,"  he  said,  "and  the 
Duke  has  really  sent  to  ask  news  of  Blenavon  from  you 
— well,  he  is  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  him  for.  But 
there  remains  something  else  to  be  explained.  What  are 
those  papers?" 

My  father  laid  his  trembling  hands  upon  them. 

"They  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,"  he  explained; 
•'nothing  at  all !  It  is  a  little  family  matter — between 
Guy  and  me.  Nothing  more.  They  belong  to  me. 
Damn  you,  Ray,  why  are  you  always  interfering  in  my 
concerns  ?" 

Ray  turned  to  me.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  I  readily  understood.  At  that  moment  I  think 
that  I  hated  him. 

"What  are  those  papers?"  he  asked. 

"Take  them  and  see,"  I  answered.  "If  I  told  you 
you  would  not  believe  me." 

He  moved  a  few  steps  towards  them,  and  then 
paused.  I  saw  that  my  father  was  leaning  forward,  and 
in  his  shaking  hand  was  a  tiny  gleaming  revolver.  A 
certain  desperate  courage  seemed  to  have  come  to 
him. 

"Ray,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "touch  them  at  your 
peril !" 

There  was  a  moment's  breathless  silence.  Then  with 
an  incredibly  swift  movement  my  stepmother  stepped 


288  THE    BETRAYAL 

in  between  and  snatched  up  the  little  roll.  She  glanced 
behind  at  the  grate,  but  the  fire  was  almost  extinct. 
With  a  little  gesture  of  despair  she  held  them  out  to  me. 

"Take  them,  Guy,"  she  cried. 

Ray  stood  by  my  side,  and  I  felt  his  hand  descend  like 
a  vice  upon  my  shoulder. 

"Give  me  those  papers,"  he  demanded. 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  I  obeyed  him.  I 
heard  a  little  sob  from  behind.  The  pistol  had  fallen 
from  my  father's  shaking  fingers,  his  head  had  fallen 
forwards  upon  his  hands.  A  tardy  remorse  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  have  pierced  the  husk  of  his  colossal  selfish- 
ness. 

"It  is  all  my  fault,  my  fault!"  he  muttered. 

My  stepmother  turned  upon  him,  pale  to  the  lips, 
with  blazing  eyes. 

"You  are  out  of  your  senses,"  she  exclaimed.  "Guy, 
this  man  is  a  bully.  All  his  life  it  has  been  his  pleasure 
to  persecute  the  weak  and  defenceless.  The  papers  are 
yours.  I  do  not  know  what  they  are,  nor  does  he,"  she 
added,  pointing  to  where  my  father  still  crouched  be- 
fore the  table.  "Don't  let  him  frighten  you  into  giving 
them  up.  He  is  trying  to  drag  you  into  the  mesh  with 
us.  Don't  let  him!  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  us, 
thank  Heaven !" 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  snatched  the  pistol  from 
my  father's  nerveless  grasp.  Then  her  hand  flashed 
out.  Ray  was  covered,  and  her  white  fingers  never 
quivered.     Even  Ray  took  a  quick  step  backwards. 

*'Give  him  back  those  papers,"  she  commanded. 

I  intervened,  stepping  into  the  line  of  fire. 


MYSELF  AND   MY  STEPMOTHER    289 

"I  gave  them  to  him  willingly,"  I  told  her.  "I  do 
not  wish  to  have  them  back.  He  is  one  of  my  em- 
ployers, and  he  has  a  right  to  claim  them." 

I  spoke  firmly,  and  she  saw  that  I  was  at  any  rate 
in  earnest.  Yet  the  look  which  she  threw  upon  me  was 
a  strange  one.  I  felt  that  she  was  disappointed,  that 
a  certain  measure  of  contempt  too  was  mingled  with  her 
disappointment.  She  threw  the  pistol  on  to  the  sofa 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  you  are  right.  The 
whole  affair  is  not  worth  these  heroics.  I  am  ready  to 
go  with  you  to  the  Duke,  Guy,  unless  Colonel  Ray  has 
any  contrary  orders  for  us." 

Ray  turned  to  me. 

**You  must  come  with  me  at  once  to  my  rooms,"  he 
said  coldly.  *'This  person  can  find  the  Duke  by  her- 
self, if  indeed  the  Duke  has  sent  for  her." 

I  understood  then  why  people  hated  Ray.  There 
was  a  vein  of  positive  brutality  somewhere  in  the  man's 
nature. 

"I  am  sorry,"  I  answered  him,  "but  I  cannot  come  to 
your  rooms  at  present.  The  Duke  is  my  present  em- 
ployer, and  I  am  here  to  take  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  to 
him.  As  long  as  she  is  willing  to  accept  my  escort  I 
shall  certainly  carry  out  my  instructions." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  boy,"  Ray  exclaimed  sharply.  "I 
want  to  give  you  a  last  chance  before  I  go  to  Lord 
Chelsford." 

"I  do  not  think,"  I  answered,  "that  I  care  about 
accepting  any  favours  from  you  just  now.  Colonel  Ray. 
Nor  am  I  at  all  sHre  that  I  need  them,"  I  added. 


290  THE    BETRAYAL 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  but  at  the  door  he  hesitated 
again. 

"Guy,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "will  you  speak  to  me 
for  a  moment  outside?" 

I  stood  on  the  landing  with  him.  He  closed  the  door 
leading  into  the  sitting-room. 

"Guy,"  he  said,  "you  know  that  if  I  leave  you  be- 
hind, you  link  your  lot  with — them.  You  will  be  an 
outcast  and  a  fugitive  all  your  days.  You  will  have 
to  avoid  every  place  where  the  English  language  is 
spoken.  You  will  never  be  able  to  recover  your  honour, 
you  will  be  the  scorn  of  all  Englishmen  and  English- 
women. I  speak  to  you  for  your  mother's  sake,  boy. 
You  have  started  life  with  a  cursed  heritage.  I  want  to 
make  allowance  for  it." 

I  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"I  am  afraid,  Colonel  Ray,"  I  said,  "that  you  are 
not  inclined  to  give  me  credit  for  very  much  common 
sense.  Take  those  papers  to  Lord  Chelsford.  I  will 
come  round  to  your  rooms  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  looked  at  me  with  eager,  searching  gaze. 

**You  mean  this?" 

''Certainly !"    I  answered. 

He  seemed  about  to  say  something,  but  changed  his 
mind.  He  left  me  without  another  word.  I  stepped 
back  into  the  sitting-room.  My  father,  with  an  empty 
tumbler  in  his  hand,  was  crouched  forward  over  the 
table,  breathing  heavily.  My  stepmother,  with  marble 
face  and  hard  set  eyes,  was  leaning  forward  In  her 
chair,  looking  into  the  dying  fire.  She  scarcely  glanced 
at  me  as  I  entered. 


MYSELF   AND   MY  STEPMOTHER    291 

"Has  he  gone?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "Will  you  get  ready,  please? 
I  want  to  take  you  to  the  Duke." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  at  once,  and  moved  towards  the 
door.  I  was  left  alone  with  my  father,  but  he  never 
stirred  during  her  absence,  nor  did  I  speak  to  him.  She 
returned  in  a  few  minutes,  dressed  very  quietly,  and 
wearing  a  veil  which  completely  obscured  her  features. 
We  walked  to  the  corner  of  the  square,  and  then  I 
called  a  hansom. 

**I  know  nothing  about  Lord  Blenavon,'*  she  said,  a 
little  wearily.  "I  suppose  the  Duke  will  not  believe 
that,  but  it  is  true." 

"You  can  do  no  more  than  tell  the  truth,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"Tell  me  what  he  is  like — the  Duke?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

"He  is  a  typical  man  of  his  class,"  I  answered.  *'He 
is  stiff,  obstinate,  punctilious,  with  an  extreme  sense  of 
honour,  to  gratify  which,  by-the-bye,  he  has  just  de- 
liberately pauperized  himself.  He  will  not  remind  you 
in  the  least  of  Lord  Blenavon." 

"I  should  imagine  not,"  she  answered. 

Then  there  was  a  short  silence,  and  I  could  see  that 
she  was  crying  under  her  veil.  I  laid  my  hand  upon 
hers. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said  gently,  "that  I  have  misled  you 
a  little.  You  are  worrying  about  me,  and  it  isn't  half 
so  necessary  as  you  imagine.  You  thought  me  mad  to 
listen  to  my  father's  offer,  and  a  coward  to  give  up 
those  papers  to  Ray.    Isn't  that  so?" 


292  THE    BETRAYAL 

My  words  seemed  to  electrify  her.  She  pushed  up 
her  veil  and  looked  at  me  eagerly. 

*' Well  ?    Go  on !"  she  exclaimed. 

"There  are  some  things,"  I  said,  "which  I  have  made 
up  ray  mind  to  tell  no  one.  But  at  least  I  can  assure 
you  of  this.  I  am  not  nearly  in  so  desperate  a  position 
as  you  and  Colonel  Ray  seem  to  think." 

She  caught  hold  of  my  hand  and  grasped  it  convul- 
sively. The  hard  lines  seemed  to  have  fallen  away  from 
her  face.    She  smiled  tremulously. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad !"  she  declared.    "I  am  glad !" 

Just  then  a  carriage  passed  us,  and  I  saw  Lady 
Angela  lean  a  little  forward  in  her  seat  as  though  to 
gain  a  better  view  of  us. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 
ANGELA'S   CONFESSION 

THE  Duke  was  in  his  study  awaiting  our  ar- 
rival. I  saw  him  rise  and  bow  stiffly  to  my 
stepmother.  Then  I  closed  the  door  and 
left  them  alone. 
I  wandered  through  the  house,  a  little  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  to  do  with  myself.  It  was  too  soon  to  go  to 
Ray,  and  the  work  on  which  I  was  engaged  was  all  in 
the  study.  Just  as  I  passed  the  drawing-room  door, 
however,  it  opened  suddenly,  and  Lady  Angela  came 
out,  talking  to  a  white-haired  old  gentleman,  who  car- 
ried a  stick  on  which  he  leaned  heavily.  He  looked  at 
me  rather  curiously,  and  then  began  to  hobble  down 
the  haU  at  a  great  pace.  But  Lady  Angela  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Why,  Sir  Michael,"  she  exclaimed,  "this  won't  do 
at  all.  You  can't  look  him  in  the  face  and  run.  Mr. 
Ducaine,  this  is  Sir  Michael  Trogoldy." 

He  swung  round  and  held  out  his  hand.  His  eyes 
searched  my  face  eagerly. 

"Nephew,"  he  said,  "I  wanted  to  meet  you,  and  I 


294  THE    BETRAYAL 

didn't  want  to  meet  you.  God  bless  my  soul!  you've 
got  MurieFs  eyes  and  mouth.  Come  and  dine  with  me 
one  night  next  week — any  night :  let  me  know.  Good- 
bye, good-bye,  Lady  Angela.  God  bless  you.  Here, 
James,  give  me  yowc  arm  down  the  steps,  and  whistle 
for  my  fellow  to  draw  up.  There  he  is,  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  the  blockhead." 

Lady  Angela  and  I  exchanged  glances.  I  think  that 
we  should  both  have  laughed  but  for  the  tears  which 
we  had  seen  in  his  eyes. 

"Poor  old  man,"  she  murmured.  "He  is  very  ner- 
vous and  very  sensitive.  I  know  that  he  dreaded  seeing 
you,  and  yet  he  came  this  afternoon  for  no  other  pur- 
pose. Will  you  come  into  the  drawing-room  for  a 
moment .?" 

There  was  a  certain  stiffness  in  her  manner,  which 
was  new  to  me.  She  remained  standing,  and  her  soft 
dark  eyes  were  full  of  grave  inquiry. 

*'Mr.  Ducaine,"  she  said,  "I  passed  you  just  now 
driving  in  a  hansom  with  a  person — of  whom  I  disap- 
prove. May  I  know — is  it  any  secret  why  you  were 
with  her?" 

"It  is  no  secret  at  all,  Lady  Angela,"  I  answered. 
"I  was  sent  to  fetch  her  by  your  father." 

"By  my  father.?"  she  repeated  incredulously.  "Do 
you  mean  that  she  is  in  this  house.?" 

"Certainly,"  I  answered.  "Your  father  is  anxious, 
I  believe,  about  Lord  Blenavon.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
he  perhaps  hoped  to  get  news  of  him  from  Mrs.  Smith- 
Lessing.    At  any  rate  he  sent  me  for  her." 

She  seemed  to  me  to  be  trembling  a  little.    Her  eyes 


ANGELA'S   CONFESSION  295 

sought  mine  almost  pathetically.  She  was  afraid  of 
something.  In  the  half-lights  she  appeared  to  me  then 
so  frail  and  girlish  that  a  great  wave  of  tenderness 
swept  in  upon  me.  I  longed  to  take  her  into  my  arms — 
even  to  hold  her  hands  and  try  to  comfort  her.  Surely 
to  do  these  things  was  the  privilege  of  the  man  who 
loved  her.  And  I  loved  her — loved  her  so  that  the  pain 
and  joy  of  it  were  woven  together  like  live  things  in 
my  heart,  fighting  always  against  the  grim  silence 
which  lay  like  a  seal  upon  my  lips.  But  there  were 
moments  when  I  was  sorely  tried,  and  this  was  one  of 
them.  My  eyes  fell  from  hers.  I  dared  not  look  her  in 
the  face. 

"Is  this — all?"  she  asked  falteringly. 

"It  is  all  that  I  know,"  I  answered. 

Then  we  were  silent.  With  a  little  sigh  she  sank 
down  in  the  corner  of  a  high-backed  easy  chair.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  she  was  thinner,  that  something  of 
the  delicate  childishness  of  her  appearance  had  passed 
away  since  her  coming  to  London.  I  knew  that  she  was 
in  trouble,  and  I  dared  not  ask  her  the  cause  of  it. 

"I  wish  that  we  were  going  back  to  Braster  to-mor- 
row," she  said  suddenly.  "Everything  and  everybody 
is  different  here.  You  seem  to  spend  most  of  your  time 
trying  to  avoid  me,  and — Colonel  Ray,  I  do  not  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  him,  but  he  has  become  like  a 
walking  tragedy." 

"I  have  not  tried  to  avoid  you,"  I  said.    "I ^* 

Then  I  stopped  short.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
mine  and  the  lie  stuck  in  my  throat.  I  went  on  des- 
perately. 


296  THE    BETRAYAL 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "that  if  you  fancy  Colonel  Ray  is 
different  you  should  ask  him  about  it." 

She  shook  her  head  dejectedly. 

"I  cannot,"  she  said.  "Sometimes  I  am  frightened 
of  Colonel  Ray.     It  is  like  that  just  now." 

**But  you  should  try  and  get  over  it,"  I  said  gently. 
"He  has  strange  moods,  but  you  should  always  re- 
member that  he  is  the  man  whom  you  are  going  to 
marry.  There  ought  to  be  every  confidence  between 
you,  and  I  know — yes,  I  know  that  he  is  very  fond  of 
you." 

She  leaned  a  little  forward.  Her  hair  was  a  little 
dishevelled,  her  face  was  almost  haggard.  Her  under 
lip  was  quivering  like  a  child's. 

"I  am  afraid  of  him,"  she  sobbed  out  suddenly.  "I 
am  afraid  of  him,  and  I  have  promised  to  marry  him. 
Can't  somebody — help  me.?" 

Her  head  fell  suddenly  forward  and  was  buried  in 
her  hands.  Her  whole  frame  shook  with  convulsive 
weeping,  and  then  suddenly  a  little  white  hand  shot  out 
towards  me.  She  did  not  look  up,  but  the  hand  was 
there,  timid,  yet  inviting.  I  dropped  on  my  knee  by  her 
side,  and  I  held  it  in  mine. 

"Dear  Lady  Angela,"  I  murmured.  "You  must  not 
give  way  like  this,  you  must  not!  Ray  is  not  used  to 
women,  and  you  are  very  young.  But  he  loves  you,  I 
know  that  he  loves  you." 

"I  don't — want  him  to  love  me,"  she  sobbed.  "Oh, 
I  know  that  I  am  foolish  and  wicked  and  childish,  but  I 
am  afraid  of  him." 

I  kept  silence,  for  my  own  battle  was  a  hard  one. 


ANGELA'S   CONFESSION  29T 

The  little  hand  was  holding  fast  to  mine.  She  lay 
curled  up  in  the  comer  of  the  chair,  her  face  hidden, 
her  slim  delicate  figure  shaking  every  now  and  then 
with  sobs.  All  the  while  I  longed  passionately  to  take 
her  into  my  arms  and  comfort  her. 

"Don't !"  I  begged.  "Oh,  don't.  Ray  has  told  me 
his  story.  He  has  made  me  his  confidant.  He  has  told 
me  how  unhappy  he  has  been,  and  how  he  loves  you. 
Oh,  Lady  Angela,  what  is  there  I  can  say?  What  can 
I  do.?" 

I  was  losing  my  head  a  little,  I  think,  for  her  fingers, 
were  gripping  mine  convulsively,  warm  and  tender  lit- 
tle fingers  which  seemed  to  be  drawing  me  all  the  while 
closer  to  her. 

"I  am  so  miserable,"  she  murmured. 

Then  suddenly  her  other  arm  was  around  my  neck, 
her  wet  tear-stained  face  was  pressed  to  mine.  I 
scarcely  knew  how  it  happened,  but  I  knew  that  she  was 
in  my  arms,  and  my  lips  were  pressed  to  hers.  A  sud- 
den, beautiful  wave  of  colour  flooded  her  cheeks;  she 
smiled  gladly  up  at  me.  She  gave  a  delicious  little  sigh 
of  satisfaction  and  then  buried  her  face  on  my 
shoulder.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  Ray  entered  the 
room. 

She  did  not  at  once  raise  her  head,  although  she 
pushed  me  gently  away  from  her  at  the  sound  of  the 
opening  door.  But  I,  who  was  standing  facing  that 
direction,  saw  him  from  the  first,  a  dark  stern  figure, 
standing  as  though  rooted  to  the  ground,  with  the  door- 
handle still  in  his  hand.  For  the  second  time  in  one  day 
he  seemed  to  have  intervened  at  the  precise  psychologi- 


298  THE    BETRAYAL 

cal  moment.  He  did  not  speak  to  me,  nor  I  to  him. 
Lady  Angela,  as  though  wondering  at  the  silence, 
turned  her  head  at  last,  and  a  little  gasping  cry  broke 
from  her  lips. 

"Mostyn,"  she  exclaimed.    "Is  that  you?" 

For  answer  he  turned  towards  the  wall  and  flooded 
the  room  with  electric  light.  Then  he  looked  at  us  both 
intently  and  mercilessly ;  only  this  time  I  saw  that  much 
of  his  wonderful  self-control  was  wanting.  He  did  not 
answer  Lady  Angela.  He  did  not  glance  towards 
her. 

"You  cur!"  he  cried.  "Twice  in  a  day  am  I  to  be 
brought  face  to  face  with  your  cursed  treachery? 
Twice  in  a  day!  Lady  Angela,  may  I  beg  that  you 
will  leave  us?" 

She  stood  up  and  faced  him,  slim  and  white- 
faced,  yet  with  her  head  thrown  back  and  her  voice 
steady. 

"Mostyn,"  she  said,  "this  is  my  fault.  I  do  not  ask 
for  your  forgiveness.  I  have  behaved  shamefully,  but 
I  was  miserable,  and  I  forgot.  Mr.  Ducaine  is  blame- 
less.    It  was  my  fault." 

**You  will  pardon  the  keenness  of  my  observation," 
he  answered,  "but  the  attitude  in  which  I  was  unfortu- 
nate enough  to  find  you  tells  its  own  story.  You  will 
oblige  me,  Lady  Angela,  by  leaving  us  alone." 

I  would  have  spoken,  but  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  think  you  forget,  Colonel  Ray,"  she  said,  "that 
this  is  my  house.  I  am  not  disposed  to  leave  you  and 
Mr.  Ducaine  here  together  in  your  present  mood." 

He  laughed  harshly. 


ANGELA'S   CONFESSION  299 

"Are  you  afraid  for  your  lover?"  he  asked.  "I 
promise  you  that  I  will  hold  his  person  sacred." 

"Lady    Angela,"    I    begged.       "Please    leave    us. 

I " 

Then  came  an  interruption  so  unexpected  and  yet  so 
natural  that  the  whole  scene  seemed  at  once  to  dissolve 
into  bathos.  The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  footman 
ushered  in  callers. 

"Lady  Chelsford  and  the  Marchioness  of  Cardenne, 
your  ladyship,"  he  announced.  "Mrs.  and  the  Misses 
Colquhoun.     Sir  George  Treherne!" 

It  was  a  transformation.  The  room,  with  its  dull 
note  of  tragedy,  was  suddenly  filled  with  faint  per- 
fumes, shaken  from  the  rustling  draperies  of  half  a 
dozen  women,  a  little  chorus  of  light  voices  started  the 
babel  of  small-talk.  Lady  Angela  had  taken  her  place 
behind  the  large  round  tea-table  and  was  talking  non- 
sense with  the  tall  young  guardsman  who  had  drawn 
his  chair  up  to  her  side,  and  I,  with  a  plate  of  sand- 
wiches in  my  hand,  nearly  ran  into  Ray,  who  was  carry- 
ing a  cup  of  tea.  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so  we 
played  our  parts  in  the  comedy.  Then  a  servant  en- 
tered the  room  and  whispered  in  my  ear. 

"His  Grace  would  be  glad  to  see  you  in  the  library, 
sir." 

I  rose  at  once.  Angela's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  mine 
questioningly.  As  I  passed  the  table  I  spoke  to  her, 
and  purposely  raised  my  voice  so  that  Ray  should  hear. 

"Your  father  has  sent  for  me,  Lady  Angela.  He  is 
terribly  industrious  to-day." 

She  smiled  back  to  me  quietly.    I  lingered  in  the  hall 


300  THE    BETRAYAL 

for  a  minute,  and  Ray  joined  me  there.  He  did  not 
speak  a  word,  but  he  motioned  me  fiercely  to  precede 
him  to  the  library.  Directly  we  entered  it  was  clear 
that  something  unusual  had  happened.  The  great  safe 
door  stood  open.  Lord  Chelsford  and  the  Duke  were 
both  awaiting  our  coming. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 
/  LOSE  MY  POST 

THE  Duke  solemnly  closed  the  door. 
"Ray,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  that  you  are 
here.       Something    serious  has  happened. 
Mr.  Ducaine,  Lord  Chelsford  and  I  desire 
to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

I  bowed.  What  was  coming  I  could  not  indeed 
imagine,  unless  Ray  had  already  made  the  disclosure. 

"The  word  code  for  the  safe  to-day  was  Magenta, 
I  believe.'"*  the  Duke  asked. 

"That  is  correct,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"And  it  was  known  to  whom.''" 

"To  Lord  Chelsford,  yourself.  Colonel  Ray,  and  my- 
self," I  answered. 

"And  what  was  there  in  the  safe?"  the  Duke  asked. 

"The  plans  for  the  Guildford  Camp,  the  new  map 
of  Surrey  pricked  for  fortifications,  and  one  or  two 
transport  schemes,"  I  answered. 

"Exactly!     Those  documents  are  now  all  missing.** 

I  strode  to  the  safe  and  looked  in.  It  was  as  the 
Duke  had  said.     The  safe  was  practically  empty. 

"They  were  there  this   morning,"   I  said.    "It   was 


302  THE    BETRAYAL 

arranged  that  I  should  examine  the  contents  of  the  safe 
the  first  thing,  and  take  any  finished  work  over  to  the 
War  Office.  Do  you  remember  who  has  been  in  the 
room  to-day,  sir?" 

"Yourself,  myself,  and  the  woman  whom  you  brought 
here  an  hour  or  so  ago." 

"Mrs.  Smith-Lessing?"  I  exclaimed. 

**Precisely !"  the  Duke  remarked,  drily. 

"Did  you  leave  her  alone  here?"  I  asked. 

"For  two  minutes  only,"  the  Duke  answered.  "I  was 
called  up  on  the  telephone  from  the  House  of  Lords.  I 
did  not  imagine  that  there  could  be  the  slightest  risk  in 
leaving  her,  for  without  the  knowledge  of  that  word 
Magenta  the  safe  would  defy  a  professional  locksmith." 

"You  will  forgive  my  suggesting  it,  your  Grace,*'  I 
said,  with  some  hesitation,  "but  you  have  not,  I  pre- 
sume, had  occasion  to  go  to  the  safe  during  the  day?" 

"I  have  not,"  the  Duke  answered  tersely. 

"Then  I  cannot  suggest  any  explanation  of  the 
opening  of  the  safe,"  I  admitted.  "It  was  impossible 
for  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  to  have  opened  it  unless  she 
knew  the  code  word." 

**The  question  is,"  the.  Duke  said  quietly,  "did  she 
know  it?" 

Then  I  realized  the  object  of  this  cross-examination. 
The  colour  flared  suddenly  into  my  cheeks,  and  as  sud- 
denly left  them.  The  absence  of  those  papers  was  ex- 
traordinary to  me.     I  utterly  failed  to  understand  it. 

*'I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  I  said.  "It 
is  true  that  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  is  my  stepmother.  I 
believe  it  is  true,  too,   that  she   is  connected  with   the 


/  LOSE  MY  POST  303 

French  Secret  Police.  I  was  there  this  afternoon — 
you  yourself  sent  me.  But  I  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Smith- 
Lessing  the  code  word,  and  I  know  nothing  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  those  documents." 

Then  Ray  moved  forward  and  placed  deliberately 
upon  the  table  the  roll  of  papers  which  I  had  given  up 
to  him  a  few  hours  ago. 

"What  about  these?"  he  asked,  with  biting  scorn. 
*'Tell  the  Duke  and  Lord  Chelsford  where  I  found 
them !  Let  us  hear  your  glib  young  tongue  telling  the 
truth  for  once,  sir." 

Both  the  Duke  and  Lord  Chelsford  were  obviously 
startled.  Ray  had  always  been  my  friend  and  up- 
holder.    He  spoke  now  with  very  apparent  enmity. 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  tell  the  story  your- 
self," I  answered.  "I  will  correct  you  if  it  is  neces- 
sary." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered.  "I  will  tell  the  story,  and 
a  pitiful  one  it  is.  This  boy  is  watched,  as  we  all  know, 
for,  owing  to  my  folly  in  ignoring  his  antecedents,  a 
great  trust  has  been  reposed  in  him.  News  was  brought 
to  me  that  he  had  been  seen  with  his  father  and  Mrs. 
Smith-Lessing  in  Gattini's  Restaurant.  Later,  that  he 
had  found  his  way  to  their  lodging.  I  followed  him 
there.  He  may  have  gone  there  with  an  errand  from 
you,  Duke,  but  when  I  arrived  he  was  doing  a  little 
business  on  his  own  account,  and  these  papers  were  in 
the  act  of  passing  from  him  to  his  father.'* 

"What  are  they.?"  Lord  Chelsford  asked. 

**Your  Lordship  may  recognize  them,"  I  answered 
quietly.     "They  are  a  summary  of  the  schemes  of  de- 


304  THE    BETRAYAL 

fence  of  the  southern  ports.  I  was  at  that  moment,  the 
moment  when  Colonel  Ray  entered,  considering  an  offer 
of  five  thousand  pounds  for  them." 

Even  Ray  was  staggered  at  my  admission,  and  the 
Duke  looked  as  though  he  could  scarcely  believe  his 
ears.  Lord  Chelsford  was  busy  looking  through  the 
papers. 

"You  young  blackguard,"  Ray  muttered  through 
his  teeth.  "After  that  admission,  do  you  still  deny  that 
you  told  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing,  or  whatever  the  woman 
calls  herself,  the  code  word  for  that  safe  ?" 

"Most  certainly  I  deny  it,"  I  answered  firmly.  "The 
two  things  are  wholly  disconnected." 

The  Duke  sat  down  heavily  in  his  chair.  I  knew 
very  well  that  of  the  three  men  he  was  the  most  sur- 
prised. Lord  Chelsford  carefully  placed  the  papers 
which  he  had  been  reading  in  his  breast-pocket.  Ray 
leaned  over  towards  him. 

"Lord  Chelsford,"  he  said,  "and  you,  Duke,  you 
took  this  young  man  on  trust,  and  I  pledged  my  word 
for  him.  Like  many  a  better  man,  I  made  a  mistake. 
For  all  that  we  know  he  has  secret  copies  of  all  the  work 
he  has  done  for  us,  ready  to  dispose  of.  What  in  God's 
name,  are  we  going  to  do  with  him.''" 

"What  do  you  suggest.?"  Lord  Chelsford  asked 
softly. 

"My  way  would  not  be  yours,"  Ray  answered,  with  a 
hard  laugh.  "I  am  only  half  civilized,  you  know,  and 
if  he  and  I  were  alone  in  the  desert  at  this  moment  I 
would  shoot  him  without  remorse.  Such  a  breach  of 
trust  as  this  deserves  death." 


/  LOSE  MY  POST  805 

"We  are,  unfortunately,"  Lord  Chelsford  remarked, 
**not  in  a  position  to  adopt  such  extreme  measures.  It 
would  not  even  be  wise  for  us  to  attempt  to  formulate 
a  legal  charge  against  him.  The  position  is  somewhat 
embarrassing.     What  do  you  suggest,  Duke.?" 

I  glanced  towards  the  Duke,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
see  that  his  hands  were  shaking.  For  a  man  who  rarely 
displayed  feeling  the  Duke  seemed  to  be  wonderfully 
affected. 

*'I  can  suggest  nothing,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone. 
*'I  must  confess  that  I  am  bewildered.  These  matters 
have  developed  so  rapidly." 

Lord  Chelsford  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 

"I  have  a  plan  in  my  mind,"  he  said  slowly.  "Duke, 
should  I  be  taking  a  liberty  if  I  asked  to  be  left  alone 
with  this  young  man  for  five  minutes  ?" 

The  Duke  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  had  the  air  of 
one  not  altogether  approving  of  the  suggestion.  Ray 
glowered  upon  us  both,  but  offered  no  objection.  They 
left  the  room  together.  Lord  Chelsford  at  once  turned 
to  me. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "forgive  me  that  I  did  not  come 
to  your  aid.  I  will  see  that  you  do  not  suffer  later  on. 
But  what  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  meaning  of  this  last 
abstraction  from  the  sate?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"The  woman  could  never  have  guessed  the  word!'*  I 
said. 

"Impossible!"  he  agreed.  "Ducaine,  do  you  know 
why  Lord  Blenavon  left  England  so  suddenly  ?" 

"Colonel  Ray  knows,  sir,"  I  answered.     "Ask  himP* 


306  THE    BETRAYAL 

Lord  Chelsford  became  very  thoughtful. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "we  are  in  a  fix.  So  far  your 
plan  has  worked  to  perfection.  Paris  has  plenty  of 
false  information,  and  your  real  copies  have  all  reached 
me  safely.  But  if  you  leave,  how  is  this  to  be  carried 
on.''  I  do  not  know  whom  I  mistrust,  but  if  the  day's 
work  of  the  Board  is  really  to  be  left  in  the  safe,  either 
here  or  at  Braster " 

"You  must  choose  my  successor  yourself,  sir,"  I  in- 
terrupted. 

'*The  Duke  has  always  opposed  my  selections.  Be- 
sides, you  have  prepared  your  false  copies  with  rare 
skill.  Even  I  was  deceived  for  a  moment  just  now  by 
your  summary.  You  don't  overdo  it.  Everything  is 
just  a  little  wrong.  I  am  not  sure  even  now  whether 
I  should  not  do  better  to  tell  Ray  and  the  Duke  the 
truth." 

"I  am  in  your  hands,  sir,"  I  answered.  "You  must 
do  as  you  think  best." 

"They  will  be  back  in  a  moment.  It  is  absurd  to 
doubt  either  of  them,  Ducaine.  Yet  I  shall  keep 
silent.  I  have  an  idea.  Agree  to  everything  I 
say." 

The  Duke  and  Ray  returned  together.  Lord  Chels- 
ford turned  to  them. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  coldly,  "persists  in  his  denial 
of  any  knowledge  of  to-day's  affair.  With  regard  to 
the  future,  I  have  offered  him  his  choice  of  an  arrest 
on  the  charge  of  espionage,  or  a  twelve  months'  cruise 
on  the  Ajax,  which  leaves  to-morrow  for  China.  He 
has  chosen  the  latter.  I  shall  take  steps  of  course  to  see 


/  LOSE  MY  POST  30T 

that  he  is  not  allowed  to  land  at  any  calling-place,  or 
dispatch  letters." 

Ray  smiled  a  little  cruelly. 

"The  idea  is  an  excellent  one,  Chelsford,"  he  said. 
**When  did  you  say  that  the  Ajax  sailed?" 

*'To-morrow,"  Lord  Chelsford  answered.  "I  propose 
to  take  Mr.  Ducaine  to  my  house  to-night,  and  to  hand 
him  over  to  the  charge  of  a  person  on  whom  I  can 
thoroughly  rely." 

The  Duke  looked  at  me  curiously. 

'*Mr.  Ducaine  consents  to  go.''"  he  asked. 

"It  is  a  voyage  which  I  have  long  desired  to  take," 
I  answered  coolly,  "though  I  never  expected  to  enjoy 
it  at  my  country's  expense." 

The  Duke  rang  the  bell. 

"Will  you  have  Mr.  Ducaine's  things  packed  and 
sent  across — did  you  say  to  your  house.  Lord  Chels- 
ford.?" 

"To  my  house,"  Lord  Chelsford  assented. 

"To  No.  19,  Grosvenor  Square,"  the  Duke  ordered. 
*'Mr.  Ducaine  will  not  be  returning." 

Lord  Chelsford  rose.  I  followed  his  example. 
Neither  the  Duke  nor  Ray  attempted  any  form  of 
farewell.  The  former,  however,  laid  some  notes  upon 
the  table. 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "that  there  is  a 
month's  salary  due  to  you.  I  have  added  something  to 
the  amount.  Until  to-day  I  have  always  considered 
your  duties  admirably  fulfilled." 

I  looked  at  the  notes  and  at  the  Duke. 

"I  thank  your  Grace,"  I  answered.    "I  will  take  the 


308  THE    BETRAYAL 

liberty  of  declining  your  gift.  My  salary  has  been 
fully  paid." 

For  a  moment  I  fancied  I  caught  a  softer  gleam  in 
Ray's  eyes.  He  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  checked 
himself.  Lord  Chelsford  hurried  me  from  the  room, 
and  into  his  little  brougham,  which  was  waiting. 

**Do  you  really  mean  me  to  go  to  China,  sir?*'  I 
asked  him,  anxiously. 

"Not  I !"  he  answered.  "I  am  going  to  send  you  to 
Braster." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
LORD   CHELSFORD'S   DIPLOMACY 

I  DINED  alone  with  Lord  and  Lady  Chelsford. 
From  the  moment  of  our  arrival  at  Chelsford 
House  my  host  had  encouraged  nothing  but  the 
most  general  conversation.  It  happened  that 
they  were  alone,  as  a  great  dinner  party  had  been  post- 
poned at  the  last  moment  owing  to  some  Royal  indispo- 
sition. Lord  Chelsford  in  his  wife's  presence  was  care- 
ful to  treat  me  as  an  ordinary  guest ;  but  directly  she 
had  left  the  room  and  we  were  alone  he  abandoned  his 
reticence. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "from  the  time  of  our  last 
conversation  at  the  War  Office  and  our  subsequent 
tete-a-tete  I  have  reposed  in  you  the  most  implicit  con- 
fidence." 

"I  have  done  my  best,  sir,"  I  answered,  "to  deserve 
it." 

"I  believe  you,"  he  declared.  "I  am  going  now  to 
extend  it.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  which  will 
probably  surprise  you  very  much.  Since  the  first  time 
when  you  found  your  documents  tampered  with,  every 
map  and  every  word  of  writing  entrusted  to  the  safe, 
either  at  Braster  House  or  Cavendish  Square,  has  been 
got  at.     Exact  copies  of  them  are  in  Paris  to-day. 


>» 


810  THE    BETRAYAL 

I  looked  at  him  in  blank  amazement.  The  thing 
seemed  impossible. 

"But  in  very  many  cases,"  I  protested,  "the  code 
word  for  opening  the  safe  has  been  known  only  to 
Colonel  Ray,  the  Duke,  and  myself." 

"The  fact  remains  as  I  have  stated  it,"  Lord  Chels- 
ford  said  slowly.  "My  information  is  positive.  When 
you  came  to  me  and  suggested  that  you  should  make 
two  copies  of  everything,  one  correct,  one  a  mass  of  in- 
correctness, I  must  admit  that  I  thought  the  idea  far- 
fetched and  unworkable.  Events,  however,  have  proved 
otherwise.  I  have  safely  received  everything  which  you 
sent  me,  and  up  to  the  present,  with  the  exception  of 
that  first  plan  of  the  Winchester  forts,  our  secrets  are 
unknown.    But  now  we  have  come  to  a  deadlock." 

"If  you  do  not  mind  telling  me.  Lord  Chelsford,  I 
should  very  much  like  to  know  why  you  did  not  explain 
the  exact  circumstances  to  Ray  and  the  Duke  this 
afternoon." 

Lord  Chelsford  nodded. 

"I  thought  that  you  would  ask  that,"  he  said.  "It 
is  not  altogether  an  easy  question  to  answer.  Remem- 
ber this.  The  French  War  Office  are  to-day  in  posses- 
sion of  an  altogether  false  scheme  of  our  proposed  de- 
fences— a  scheme  which,  if  they  continue  to  regard 
it  as  genuine,  should  prove  nothing  short  of  disastrous 
to  them.  Only  you  and  I  are  in  the  secret  at  present. 
Positively  I  did  not  feel  that  I  cared  to  extend  that 
knowledge  to  a  single  other  person." 

"But  you  might  have  told  Colonel  Ray  and  the  Duke 
separately,"  I  remarked.     "The  Duke  has  never  been 


LORD   CHELSFORD'S   DIPLOMACY    Sll 

ray  friend,  and  Ray  has  other  causes  for  being  angry 
with  me  just  at  present;  but  between  them  they  rescued 
me  from  something  like  starvation,  and  it  is  terrible  for 
them  to  think  of  me  as  they  are  doing  now.*' 

Lord  Chelsford  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine, 
and  held  it  up  to  the  light  for  a  moment. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "a  secret  is  a  very  subtle 
thing.  Though  the  people  who  handle  it  are  men  of 
the  most  unblemished  honour  and  reputation,  still  the 
fewer  they  are,  the  safer  the  life  of  that  secret." 

"But  the  Duke  and  Colonel  Ray!"  I  pro- 
tested. 

"I  might  remind  you,*'  Lord  Chelsford  said,  smiling, 
*'that  those  are  precisely  the  two  persons  who  shared 
with  you  the  knowledge  of  the  word  which  opened  the 
safe." 

I  laughed. 

"I  presume  that  you  do  not  suspect  either  of  them.?" 
I  remarked. 

"The  absurdity  is  obvious,'*  Lord  Chelsford  an- 
swered. "But  the  force  of  my  former  remark  remains. 
I  like  that  secret  better  when  it  rests  between  you  and 
me.  It  means,  I  know,  that  for  a  time — ^I  promise  you 
that  it  shall  be  only  for  a  time — you  must  lose  your 
friends,  but  the  cause  is  great  enough,  and  it  should  be 
within  our  power  to  reward  you  later  on.** 

"Oh,  I  am  willing  enough,*'  I  answered.  **But  may 
I  ask  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  me?** 

Lord  Chelsford  smoked  in  silence  for  several  mo- 
ments. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "who  is  there  in  the  house- 


S12  THE    BETRAYAL 

Aold  of  the  Duke  who  opens  that  safe  and  copies  those 
papers  ?    Who  is  the  traitor  ?" 

"God  only  knows!"  I  answered.  "It  is  a  hopeless 
mystery." 

"Yet  we  must  solve  it,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  "and 
quickly.  If  a  single  batch  of  genuine  maps  and  plans 
were  tampered  with,  disparities  would  certainly  appear, 
and  the  thing  might  be  suspected.  Besides,  upon  the 
face  of  it,  the  thing  is  terribly  serious." 

"You  have  a  plan,"  I  said. 

"I  have,"  Lord  Chelsford  answered  calmly.  **You 
remember  Grooton.''" 

**Certainly !    He  was  a  servant  at  Braster." 

**And  the  very  faithful  servant  of  his  country  also," 
Lord  Chelsford  remarked.  "You  know,  I  believe,  that 
he  was  a  secret  service  man.  He  is  entirely  safe,  and  I 
have  sent  for  him.  Now  I  imagine  that  the  Duke  will 
wish  our  new  secretary  to  live  still  at  the  'Brand' — ^he 
preferred  it  in  your  case,  as  you  will  remember.  Our 
new  secretary  is  going  to  be  my  nephew.  He  is  very 
stolid  and  honest,  and  fortunately  not  a  chatterbox. 
He  is  going  to  be  the  nominal  secretary,  but  I  want  you 
to  be  the  one  who  really  does  the  work." 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand!"  I  was  forced  to 
admit. 

"It  will  mean,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  "some  privation 
and  a  great  deal  of  inconvenience  for  you.  But  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  to  face  it,  for  the  end  to  be  gained  is 
worth  it.  I  want  you  also  to  be  at  the  *Brand,'  but^to 
lie  hidden  all  the  day  time.  You  can  have  one  of  the 
upstair  rooms  fitted  as  a  writing  room.    Then  you  and 


LORD   CHLLSFORD'S   DIPLOMACY    813 

my  nephew  can  do  the  transposition.  And  beyond  all 
that  I  want  you  to  think — to  think  and  to  watch." 

My  heart  leaped  with  joy  to  think  that  after  all  I 
was  not  to  go  into  exile.  Then  the  quiet  significance 
of  Lord  Chelsford's  last  words  were  further  impressed 
upon  me  by  the  added  gravity  of  his  manner. 

"Mr.  Ducaine,"  he  said,  "you  must  see  for  yourself 
that  I  am  running  a  very  serious  risk  in  making  these 
plans  with  you  behind  the  backs  of  the  Duke  of  Row- 
chester  and  Colonel  Ray.  The  Duke  is  a  man  of  the 
keenest  sense  of  honour,  as  his  recent  commercial  trans- 
actions have  shown.  He  has  parted  with  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds  rather  than  that  the  shadow  of  a 
stigma  should  rest  upon  his  name.  He  is  also  my  per- 
sonal friend,  and  very  sensitive  of  any  advice  or  criti- 
cism. Then  Ray — a  V.C.,  and  one  of  the  most  popular 
soldiers  in  England  to-day — he  also  is  quick  tempered, 
and  he  also  is  my  friend.  You  can  see  for  yourself 
that  in  acting  as  I  am,  behind  the  backs  of  these  men, 
I  am  laying  myself  open  to  very  grave  trouble.  Yet 
I  see  no  alternative.  There  is  a  rank  traitor  either  on 
the  Military  Board  or  closely  connected  with  the  Duke's 
household.  He  does  not  know  it,  nor  do  they  know  it, 
but  everyone  of  his  servants  has  been  vigorously  and 
zealously  watched  without  avail.  The  circle  has  been 
drawn  closer  and  closer,  Mr.  Ducaine.  Down  in  Bras- 
ter  you  may  be  able  to  help  me  in  narrowing  it  down 
tiU  only  one  person  is  within  it.    Listen !" 

Lady  Chelsford  entered,  gorgeous  in  white  satin  and 
a  flaming  tiara.  She  looked  at  me,  I  thought,  a  little 
gravely. 


314  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Morton,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  spare  me  a 
minute.     Mr.  Ducaine  will  excuse  you,  I  am  sure." 

Lord  Chelsford  and  she  left  the  room  together.  I, 
feeling  the  heat  of  the  apartment,  walked  to  the  win- 
dow, and  raising  the  sash  looked  out  into  the  cool  dark 
evening.  At  the  door,  drawn  up  in  front  of  Lord 
Chelsford's  brougham,  was  a  carriage  with  a  tall  foot- 
man standing  facing  me.  I  recognized  him  and  the 
liveries  in  a  moment.  It  was  the  Rowchester  carriage. 
Some  one  from  Rowchester  House  was  even  now  with 
Lord  and  Lady  Chelsford. 

Fresh  complications,  then !  Had  the  Duke  come  to 
see  me  off,  or  had  his  suspicions  been  aroused.''  Was  he 
even  now  insisting  upon  an  explanation  with  Lord 
Chelsford.?  The  minutes  passed,  and  I  began  to  get 
restless  and  anxious.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  Lord 
Chelsford  entered  alone.  He  came  over  at  once  to  my 
side.     He  was  looking  perplexed  and  a  little  annoyed. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "Lady  Angela  Harberly  is  here." 

I  started,  and  I  suppose  my  face  betrayed  me. 

*'Lady  Angela — ^here?" 

"And  she  wishes  to  see  you,"  he  continued.  "Lady 
Chelsford  is  chaperoning  her  to-night  to  Suffolk  House, 
but  she  says  that  she  should  have  come  here  in  any  case. 
She  believes  that  you  are  going  to  China." 

"Did  you  tell  her.?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  told  her  nothing,"  he  answered.  •  "The  ques- 
tion is,  what  you  are  to  tell  her.  I  understand,  Ducaine, 
that  Lady  Angela  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Colonel 
Ray." 

"I  believe  that  she  is,"  I  admitted. 


LORD   CHELSFORD'S   DIPLOMACY    316 

"Then  I  do  not  understand  her  desire  to  see  you," 
Lord  Chelsford  said.  "The  Duke  of  Rowchester  is  my 
friend  and  relative,  Ducaine,  and  I  do  not  see  how  I 
can  permit  this  interview." 

**And  I,"  said  a  quiet  thrilling  voice  behind  his  back, 
**do  not  know  how  you  are  going  to  prevent  it." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her.  She  was  so  frail  and 
so  delicately  beautiful  in  her  white  gown,  with  the  ropes 
of  pearls  around  her  neck,  the  simply  parted  hair,  and 
her  dark  eyes  were  so  plaintive  and  yet  so  tender,  that 
the  angry  exclamation  died  away  on  Lord  Chelsford's 
lips. 

"Angela,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Ducaine  is  here.  You  can 
speak  with  him  if  you  will,  but  it  must  be  in  my  pres- 
ence. You  must  not  think  that  I  do  not  trust  you — 
both  of  you.    But  I  owe  this  condition  to  your  father." 

She  came  over  to  me  very  timidly.  She  seemed  to 
me  so  beautiful,  so  exquisitely  childish,  that  I  touched 
the  fingers  of  the  hand  she  gave  me  with  a  feeling  of 
positive  reverence. 

"You  have  come  to  wish  me  God-speed,"  I  murmured. 
**I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"You  are  really  going,  then?" 

"I  am  going  for  a  little  time  out  of  your  life.  Lady 
Angela,"  I  answered.  "It  is  necessary :  Lord  Chelsford 
knows  that.  But  I  am  not  going  in  disgrace.  I  am 
very  thankful  to  be  able  to  tell  you  that." 

"It  was  not  necessary  to  tell  me,"  she  answered. 
"Am  I  not  here?" 

I  bent  low  over  her  hand,  which  rested  still  in  mine. 

"Mine  is  not  a  purposeless  exile — nor  altogether  an 


816  THE    BETRAYAL 

unhappy  one — now,"  I  said.  "I  have  work  to  do,  Lady 
Angela,  and  I  am  going  to  it  with  a  good  heart.  When 
we  meet  again  I  hope  that  it  may  be  differently.  Your 
coming — the  memory  of  it  will  stand  often  between  me 
and  loneliness.  It  will  sweeten  the  very  bitterest  of  my 
days." 

"You  are  really  going — to  China.?"  she  murmured. 

I  glanced  towards  Lord  Chelsford.  His  back  was 
turned  to  us.  If  he  understood  the  meaning  of  my 
pause  he  made  no  sign. 

"I  may  not  tell  you  where  I  am  going  or  why,"  I 
answered.  "But  I  will  tell  you  this,  Lady  Angela.  I 
shall  come  back,  and  as  you  have  come  to  see  me  to- 
night, so  shall  I  come  to  you  before  long.  If  you  will 
trust  me  I  will  prove  myself  worthy  of  it." 

She  did  not  answer  me  with  any  word  at  all,  but  with 
a  sudden  little  forward  movement  of  both  her  hands, 
and  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears.  Yet 
they  shone  into  mine  like  stars,  and  I  saw  heaven  there. 

**I  am  sorry,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  gravely  inter- 
posing, "but  Lady  Chelsford  will  be  waiting  for  you, 
Angela.  And  I  think  that  I  must  ask  you  to  remember 
that  I  cannot  sanction,  or  appear  by  my  silence  to  sanc- 
tion, anything  of  this  sort." 

So  he  led  her  away,  but  what  did  I  care?  My  heart 
was  beating  with  the  rapture  of  her  backward  glance. 
I  cared  neither  for  Ray  nor  the  Duke  nor  any  living 
person.  For  with  me  it  was  the  one  supreme  moment 
of  a  man's  lifetime,  come  too  at  the  very  moment  of  my 
despair.  I  was  no  longer  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit.  The 
wonderful  gates  stood  open. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 
A   TERRIBLE  DISCOVERY 

I    CALLED  softly  to  Grooton  from  my  room  up- 
stairs. 
"Grooton!" 
"Yes,  sir." 

"You  are  alone?** 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Is  Mr.  Hill  still  up  at  the  Court?" 

"He  will  be  there  until  midnight,  sir." 

A  gust  of  wind  came  suddenly  roaring  through  the 
wood,  drowning  even  the  muffled  thunder  of  the  sea 
below.  The  rain  beat  upon  the  window  panes.  The 
little  house,  strongly  built  though  it  was,  seemed  to 
quiver  from  its  very  foundations.  I  caught  up  my 
overcoat,  and  boldly  descended  the  narrow  staircase. 
Grooton  stood  at  the  bottom,  holding  a  lamp  in  his  hand. 

"You  are  quite  safe  to-night,  sir,"  he  said. 
"There'll  be  no  one  about  in  such  a  storm." 

I  stood  still  for  a  moment.  The  raging  and  tearing 
of  the  sea  below  had  momentarily  triumphed  over  the 
north  wind. 

**The  trees  in  the  spinney  are  snapping  like  twigs. 


S18  THE    BETRAYAL 

sir,"  Grooton  remarked.  "There's  one  lying  right 
across  the  path  outside.  But  you'll  excuse  me,  sir — 
you're  not  going  out !" 

"I  think  so,  Grooton,"  I  answered,  "for  a  few  min- 
utes. Remember  that  I  have  been  a  prisoner  here  for 
three  days.     I'm  dying  for  some  fresh  air." 

"I  don't  think  it's  hardly  safe,  sir,"  he  protested, 
deprecatingly.  "Not  that  there's  any  fear  of  your 
being  seen:  the  wind's  enough  to  carry  you  over  the 
cliff." 

"I  shall  risk  it,  Grooton,"  I  answered.  "I  think  that 
the  wind  is  going  down,  and  there  won't  be  a  soul  about. 
It's  too  good  a  chance  to  miss." 

I  waited  for  a  momentary  lull,  and  then  I  opened  the 
door  and  slipped  out.  The  first  breath  of  cold  strong 
air  was  like  wine  to  me  after  my  confinement,  but  a 
moment  later  I  felt  my  breath  taken  away,  and  I  was 
lifted  almost  from  my  feet  by  a  sudden  gust.  I  linked 
my  arm  around  the  trunk  of  a  swaying  pine  tree  and 
hung  there  till  the  lull  came.  Up  into  the  darkness 
from  that  unseen  gulf  below  came  showers  of  spray, 
white  as  snow,  falling  like  rain  all  about  me.  It  was  a 
night  to  remember. 

Presently  I  turned  inland,  and  reached  the  park.  I 
left  the  footpath  so  that  I  should  avoid  all  risk  of  meet- 
ing any  one,  and  followed  the  wire  fencing  which 
divided  the  park  from  the  belt  of  fir  trees  bordering  the 
road.  I  walked  for  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  then 
stopped  short. 

I  had  reached  the  point  where  that  long  straight  road 
from  Braster  turned  sharply  away  inland  for  the  second 


A    TERRIBLE  DISCOVERY  319 

time.  At  a  point  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and 
rapidly  approaching  me,  came  a  twin  pair  of  flaring 
eyes.  I  knew  at  once  what  they  were — ^the  head  lights 
of  a  motor  car.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  I 
doubled  back  to  the  "Brand." 

"Grooton !"  I  called  sharply. 

Grooton  appeared. 

"Is  any  one  at  Braster  Grange?"  I  asked. 

"Not  that  I  have  heard  of,  sir,"  he  answered. 

*'You  do  not  know  whether  Mrs.  Smith-Lessing  is 
expected  back  ?" 

"I  have  not  heard,  sir.  They  left  no  servants  there 
— ^not  even  a  caretaker." 

I  stepped  back  again  into  the  night  and  took  the 
shortest  cut  across  the  park  to  the  house.  As  I  neared 
the  entrance  gates  I  left  the  path  and  crept  up  close 
to  the  plantation  which  bordered  the  road.  My  heart 
gave  a  jump  as  I  listened.  I  could  hear  the  low  level 
throbbing  of  a  motor  somewhere  quite  close  at  hand. 
The  lights  had  been  extinguished,  but  it  was  there 
waiting.  I  did  not  hesitate  any  longer.  I  kept  on  the 
turf  by  the  side  of  the  avenue  and  made  my  way  up 
to  the  house. 

The  library  alone  and  one  small  window  on  the 
ground  floor  were  lit.  I  crept  up  on  the  terrace  and 
tried  to  peer  in,  but  across  each  of  the  library  windows 
the  curtains  were  too  closely  drawn.  There  remained 
the  small  window  at  the  end  of  the  terrace,  I  crept  on 
tiptoe  towards  this,  feeling  my  way  through  the  dark- 
ness by  the  front  of  the  house.  Suddenly  I  came  to  a 
full  stop.    I  flattened  myself  against  the  stonework  and 


820  THE    BETRAYAL 

held  my  breath.  Some  one  else  was  on  the  terrace. 
What  I  had  heard  was  unmistakable.  It  was  the  wind 
blowing  amongst  a  woman's  skirts,  and  the  woman  was 
very  close  at  hand. 

I  almost  felt  her  warm  breath  as  she  stole  past  me. 
I  caught  a  gleam  of  a  pale  face,  sufficient  to  tell  me 
who  she  was.  She  passed  on  and  took  up  her  stand 
outside  that  small  end  window. 

I,  too,  crept  nearer  to  it.  About  a  yard  away  there 
was  a  projection  of  the  front.  I  stole  into  the  deep 
corner  and  waited.  A  few  feet  from  me  I  knew  that 
she  too  was  waiting. 

Half  an  hour,  perhaps  an  hour,  passed.  My  ears 
became  trained  to  all  sounds  that  were  not  absolutely 
deadened  by  the  roar  of  the  wind.  I  heard  the  crash 
of  falling  boughs  in  the  wood,  the  more  distant  but 
unchanging  thunder  of  the  sea,  the  sharp  spitting 
of  the  rain  upon  the  stone  walk.  And  I  heard  the 
opening  of  the  window  by  the  side  of  which  I  was 
leaning. 

I  was  only  just  in  time.  Through  the  raised  sash 
there  came  a  hand,  holding  a  packet  of  some  sort,  and 
out  of  the  darkness  came  another  hand  eagerly 
stretched  out  to  receive  it.  I  brushed  it  ruthlessly 
aside,  tore  the  packet  from  the  fingers  which  suddenly 
strove  to  retain  it,  and  with  my  other  hand  I  caught 
the  arm  a  little  above  the  wrist.  I  heard  the  flying 
footsteps  of  my  fellow-watcher,  but  I  did  not  even  turn 
round.  A  fierce  joy  was  in  my  heart.  Now  I  was  to 
know.  The  veil  of  mystery  which  had  hung  over  the 
doings  at  Braster  was  to  be  swept  aside.     I  stooped 


A    TERRIBLE  DISCOVERY  321 

down  till  my  eyes  were  within  a  few  inches  of  the  hand. 
I  passed  my  fingers  over  it.    I  felt  the  ring 

Then  I  remember  only  that  mad  headlong  flight  back 
across  the  park,  where  the  very  air  seemed  full  of  sob- 
bing, mocking  voices,  and  the  ground  beneath  my  feet 
swayed  and  heaved.  I  could  not  even  think  coherently. 
I  heard  the  motor  go  tearing  down  the  road  past  me, 
and  come  to  a  standstill  at  the  turn.  Still  I  had  no 
thought  of  any  danger.  It  never  occurred  to  me  to 
leave  the  footpath  and  make  my  way  back  to  the 
"Brand,"  as  I  might  well  have  done,  by  a  more  cir- 
cuitous route.  I  kept  on  the  footpath,  and  just  as  I 
reached  the  little  iron  gate  which  led  into  the  spinney, 
I  felt  a  man's  arm  suddenly  flung  around  my  neck,  and 
with  a  jerk  I  was  thrown  almost  off  my  feet. 

"He  is  here,  madame,"  I  heard  a  low  voice  say. 
**Take  the  papers  from  him.     I  have  him  safe." 

I  think  that  my  desperate  humour  lent  me  more  than 
my  usual  strength.  With  a  fierce  effort  I  wrenched 
myself  free.  Almost  immediately  I  heard  the  click  of 
a  revolver. 

"If  you  move,"  a  low  voice  said,  "I  fire !" 

"What  do  you  want?"  I  asked. 

"The  papers." 

I  laughed  bitterly. 

"Are  they  worth  my  life?"  I  asked. 

"The  life  of  a  dozen  such  as  you,"  the  man  answered. 
"Quick!     Hand  them  over." 

Then  I  heard  a  little  cry  from  the  woman  who  had 
been  standing  a  few  feet  off.  In  the  struggle  I  had 
lost  my  cap,  and  a  faint  watery  moon,  half  hidden  by 


322  THE    BETRAYAL 

a  ragged  bank  of  black  clouds,  was  shining  weakly 
down  upon  us. 

"Guy,"  she  cried,  and  her  voice  was  shaking  as 
though  with  terror.     "Guy,  is  that  you.''" 

I  lost  my  self-control.  I  forgot  her  sex,  I  forgot 
everything  except  that  she  was  responsible  for  this  un- 
speakable corruption.  I  said  terrible  things  to  her. 
And  she  listened,  white — calm — speechless.  When  I 
had  finished  she  signed  to  the  man  to  leave  us.  He  hesi- 
tated, but  with  a  more  peremptory  gesture  she  dismissed 
him. 

"Guy,"  she  said,  "you  have  not  spared  me.  Perhaps 
I  do  not  deserve  it.  Now  listen.  The  whole  thing  is  at 
an  end.  Those  few  papers  are  all  we  want.  Your 
father  is  already  in  France.  I  am  leaving  at  once. 
Give  me  those  papers  and  you  will  be  rid  of  us  for  ever. 
If  you  do  not  I  must  stay  on  until  I  have  received  copies 
of  a  portion  of  them,  at  any  rate.  You  know  very  well 
now  that  I  can  do  this.  Give  me  those  that  you  have. 
It  will  be  safer — in  every  way." 

"Give  them  to  you?"  I  answered  scornfully.  "Are 
you  serious?" 

"Very  serious,  Guy.  Do  you  not  see  that  the 
sooner  it  is  all  over — the  better — ^tlie  safer — 
up  there? 

She  pointed  towards  the  house.  I  could  have  struck 
the  white  fingers  with  their  loathsome  meaning. 

"I  shall  take  this  packet  to  Lord  Chelsford,"  I  said. 
**I  am  down  here  as  a  spy — a  spy  upon  spies.  He  is 
up  at  the  house  now,  and  to-morrow  this  packet  will  be 
in  his  hands.    I  shall  tell  him  how  I  secured  it.    I  think 


A    TERRIBLE  DISCOVERY 

that  after  that  you  will  not  have  many  opportunities 
for  plying  your  cursed  trade." 

"You  know  the  consequences?" 

"They  are  not  my  concern,"  I  answered  coldly. 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"If  I,"  she  said,  "were  as  unwavering  in  my  duty  as 
you  I  should  call  Jean  back." 

"I  am  indifferent,"  I  answered.  "I  do  not  value  my 
life  enough  to  shrink  from  fighting  for  it." 

She  turned  away. 

"You  are  very  young,  Guy,"  she  said,  "and  you  talk 
like  a  very  young  man.  You  must  go  your  own  way. 
Send  for  Lord  Chelsford,  if  you  will.  But  remember 
all  that  it  will  mean.  Can't  you  see  that  such  stern 
morality  as  yours  is  the  most  exquisite  form  of  selfish- 
ness?   Good-bye,  Guy." 

She  glided  away.  I  reached  the  "Brand"  undis- 
turbed. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE    TRAITOR 

(^  Q  V  DO  not  understand  you,  Ducaine,"  Lord 
Chelsford  said  slowly.  "You  have  been  a 
faithful  and  valuable  servant  to  your  coun- 
try, and  you  know  very  well  that  your 
services  are  not  likely  to  be  forgotten.  I  want  you 
only  to  be  consistent.  I  must  know  from  whom  you 
received  this  packet." 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  sir,"  I  answered.  "It  was  a  terri- 
bly dark  night,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  identify  a  hand. 
Besides,  it  was  snatched  away  almost  at  once." 

"In  your  own  mind,  Ducaine,"  Chelsford  said,  "have 
you  hazarded  a  guess  as  to  who  that  unseen  person 
might  be  ?" 

"It  Is  too  serious  a  matter  to  hazard  guesses  about, 
sir,"  I  answered. 

"Nevertheless,"  Lord  Chelsford  continued,  eyeing 
me  closely,  "in  your  own  mind  you  know  very  well  who 
that  person  was.  You  are  a  bad  liar,  Ducaine.  There 
was  something  about  the  hand  which  told  you  the  truth 
— a  ring,  perhaps.    At  any  rate,  something." 

"I  had  no  time  to  feel  for  such  things,  sir,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Ducaine,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  "I  am  forced  to 
connect  your  refusal  to  hazard  even  a  surmise  as  to  the 
identity  of  that  hand  with  your  sudden  desire  to  break 


THE    TRAITOR  S25 

off  all  conection  with  this  matter.  I  am  forced  to  come 
to  a  conclusion,  Ducaine.  You  have  discovered  the 
truth.    You  know  the  traitor !" 

"On  the  contrary,  Lord  Chelsford,"  I  answered,  "I 
know  nothing." 

Later  in  the  day  he  came  to  me  again.  I  could  see 
that  he  had  made  no  fresh  discovery. 

"Ducaine,"  he  said,  "what  time  did  you  say  that  you 
left  here  last  night.?" 

"At  midnight,  sir." 

"And  you  were  back.?" 

"Before  one." 

"That  corresponds  exactly  with  Grooton's  state- 
ment," Lord  Chelsford  said.  "And  yet  I  have  certain 
information  that  from  a  few  minutes  before  eleven  till 
two  o'clock  not  one  member  of  the  Military  Board 
quitted  the  library." 

I  bowed. 

"That  is  conclusive,"  I  remarked. 

"It  is  remarkably  inconclusive  to  me,"  Lord  Chels- 
ford remarked  grimly.  "Whom  else  save  one  of  your 
friends  who  are  all  upon  the  Board  could  you  possibly 
wish  to  shield.?" 

"That  I  even  wish  to  do  so,"  I  answered,  "is  purely 
an  assumption." 

"You  are  fencing  with  me,  young  man,"  Lord  Chels- 
ford said  grimly,  "and  it  is  not  worth  while.     Hush!" 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door  downstairs.  We  heard 
the  Duke's  measured  tones. 

"I  understood  that  Lord  Chelsford  was  here,"  he 
said. 


326  THE    BETRAYAL 

"Lord  Chelsford  has  left,  your  Grace,"  Grooton  an- 
swered. 

"And  Mr.  Hill?" 

"He  has  been  at  the  house  all  day,  your  Grace." 

The  Duke  appeared  to  hesitate  for  a  moment. 

"Grooton,"  he  said,  "I  rely  upon  you  to  see  that 
Lord  Chelsford  has  this  note  shortly.  I  am  going  for 
a  little  walk,  and  shall  probably  return  this  way.  I 
wish  you  to  understand  that  this  note  is  for  Lord  Chels- 
ford's  own  hand." 

"Certainly,  your  Grace." 

"Not  only  that,  Grooton,  but  the  fact  that  I  called 
here  and  left  a  communication  for  Lord  Chelsford  is 
also — to  be  forgotten." 

"I  quite  understand,  your  Grace,"  Grooton  assured 
him. 

The  Duke  struck  a  match,  and  a  moment  or  two 
later  we  saw  him  strolling  along  the  cliff  side,  smoking 
a  cigarette,  his  hands  behind  him,  prim,  carefully 
dressed,  walking  with  the  measured  ease  of  a  man  seek- 
ing an  appetite  for  his  dinner.  He  was  scarcely  out  of 
sight,  and  Lord  Chelsford  was  on  the  point  of  descend- 
ing for  his  note,  when  my  heart  gave  a  great  leap. 
Lady  Angela  emerged  from  the  plantation  and  crossed 
the  open  space  in  front  of  the  cottage  with  swift  foot- 
steps. Her  hair  was  streaming  in  the  breeze  as  though 
she  had  been  running,  but  there  was  not  a  vestige  of 
colour  in  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes,  too,  were  like  the  eyes 
of  a  frightened  child. 

Lord  Chelsford  descended  the  stairs  and  himself  ad- 
mitted her. 


THE    TRAITOR  327 

**Why,  Angela,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  look  as  though 
you  had  seen  a  ghost.     Is  anything  the  matter?" 

**Oh,  I  am  afraid  so,"  she  answered.  "Have  you  seen 
my  father?" 

"Why?"  he  asked,  fingering  the  note  which  Grooton 
had  silently  laid  upon  the  table. 

1  "Something  has  happened!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am 
sure  of  it.  Last  night  he  came  to  me  before  dinner. 
He  told  me  that  Blenavon  was  in  trouble.  It  was  nec- 
essary to  send  him  money  by  a  special  messenger,  by 
the  only  person  who  knew  his  whereabouts.  He  gave 
me  a  packet,  and  he  told  me  that  at  a  quarter-past 
twelve  last  night  I  was  to  be  in  my  music-room,  and 
directly  the  stable  clock  struck  that  I  was  to  open  the 
window,  and  some  one  would  be  there  on  the  terrace  and 
take  the  packet.  I  did  exactly  as  he  told  me,  and  there 
was  someone  there;  but  I  had  just  held  out  the  packet 
when  a  third  person  snatched  it  away,  and  held  my  hand 
close  to  his  eyes  as  though  to  try  and  guess  who  I  was. 
I  managed  to  get  it  away  and  close  the  window,  but  I 
think  that  the  wrong  person  must  have  taken  the 
packet.  I  told  my  father  to-day,  and — you  know  that 
terribly  still  look  of  his.  I  thought  that  he  was  never 
going  to  speak  again.  When  I  asked  him  if  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  money  in  it — he  only  groaned." 

Up  on  the  top  of  the  stairs  I  was  shaking  with  ex- 
citement. I  heard  Lord  Chelsford  speak,  and  his  voice 
was  hoarse. 

"Since  then,"  he  asked,  "what?" 

"A  man  came  to  see  father.  He  drove  from  Wells. 
He  looked  like  a  Frenchman,  but  he  gave  no  name.    He 


328  THE    BETRAYAL 

was  in  the  library  for  an  hour.  When  he  left  he 
walked  straight  out  of  the  house  and  drove  away  again. 
I  went  into  the  library,  and — you  know  how  strong 
father  is — he  was  crouching  forward  across  the  table, 
muttering  to  himself.  It  was  like  some  sort  of  a  fit. 
He  did  not  know  me  when  I  spoke  to  him.  Lord  Chels- 
ford,  what  does  it  all  mean?" 

"Go  on !"  he  answered.     "Tell  me  the  rest." 

"There  is  nothing  else,"  she  faltered.  "He  got 
better  presently,  and  he  kissed  me.  I  have  never  known 
him  to  do  such  a  thing  before,  except  at  morning  or 
night.  And  then  he  locked  himself  in  the  study  and 
wrote.  About  an  hour  afterwards  I  heard  him  asking 
everywhere  for  you.  The  servants  thought  that  you 
had  come  here.  I  saw  him  crossing  the  park,  so  I 
followed." 

Lord  Chelsford  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  and 
called  me  by  name.  I  heard  Lady  Angela's  little  cry 
of  surprise.  I  was  downstairs  in  a  moment,  and  she 
came  straight  into  my  arms.  Her  dear  tear-stained 
little  face  buried  itself  upon  my  shoulder. 

"I  am  so  thankful,  so  thankful  that  you  are  here," 
she  murmured. 

And  all  the  while,  with  the  face  of  a  man  forced  into 
the  presence  of  tragedy,  Lord  Chelsford  was  reading 
that  letter.  When  he  had  finished  his  hands  were  shak- 
ing and  his  face  was  grey.  He  moved  over  to  the  fire- 
place, and,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  thrust  the 
letter  into  the  flames.  Not  content  with  that,  he  stood 
over  it,  poker  in  hand,  and  beat  the  ashes  into  powder. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  door. 


THE    TRAITOR  829 

"Take  care  of  Angela,  Ducaine,"  he  exclaimed,  and 
hurried  out. 

But  Lady  Angela  had  taken  alarm.  She  hastened 
after  him,  dragging  me  with  her.  Lord  Chelsford  was 
past  middle  age,  but  he  was  running  along  the  cliff 
path  like  a  boy.  We  followed.  Lady  Angela  would 
have  passed  him,  but  I  held  her  back.  She  did  not 
speak  a  word.  Some  vague  prescience  of  the  truth 
even  then,  I  think,  had  dawned  upon  her. 

We  must  have  gone  a  mile  before  we  came  in  sight 
of  him.  He  was  strolling  along,  only  dimly  ^asible  in 
the  gathering  twilight,  still  apparently  smoking,  and 
with  the  air  of  a  man  taking  a  leisurely  promenade. 
He  was  toiling  up  the  side  of  the  highest  cliff  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  once  we  saw  him  turn  seaward  and 
take  off  his  hat  as  though  enjoying  the  breeze.  Just 
as  he  neared  the  summit  he  looked  round.  Lord  Chels- 
ford waved  his  hand  and  shouted. 

"Rowchester,"  he  cried.     "Hi!     Walt  for  me." 

The  Duke  waved  his  hand  as  though  in  salute,  and 
turned  apparently  with  the  object  of  coming  to  meet 
us.  But  at  that  moment,  without  any  apparent  cause, 
he  lurched  over  towards  the  cliff  side,  and  we  saw  him 
fall.  Lady  Angela's  cry  of  frenzied  horror  was  the 
most  awful  thing  I  had  ever  heard.  Lord  Chelsford 
took  her  into  his  arms. 

"Climb  down,  Ducaine,"  he  gasped.    "I'm  done !" 

I  found  the  Duke  on  the  shingles,  curiously  un- 
mangled.  He  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had 
found  death  restful. 


CHAPTER    XL 
THE   THEORIES   OF   A   NOVELIST 

THE  novelist  smiled.  He  had  been  button- 
holed by  a  very  great  man,  which  pleased 
him.  He  raised  his  voice  a  little.  There 
were  others  standing  around.  He  fancied 
himself  already  the  centre  of  the  group.  He  forgot 
the  greatness  of  the  great  man. 

"In  common  with  many  other  people,  my  dear  Mar- 
quis," he  said,  "you  labour  under  a  great  mistake. 
Human  character  is  governed  by  as  exact  laws  as  the 
physical  world.  Give  me  a  man's  characteristics,  and 
I  will  undertake  to  tell  you  exactly  how  he  will  act 
under  any  given  circumstances.  It  is  a  question  of 
mathematics.  We  all  carry  with  us,  inherited  or  ac- 
quired, a  certain  amount  of  resistance  to  evil  influence, 
certain  predilections  towards  good  and  vice  versa,  ac- 
cording as  we  are  decent  fellows  or  blackguards. 
Some  natures  are  more  complex  than  others,  of  course — 
that  only  means  that  the  weighing  up  of  the  good  and 
evil  in  them  is  a  more  difficult  matter.  There  are  ex- 
perts who  can  tell  you  the  weight  of  a  haystack  by 
looking  at  it,  and  there  are  others  who  are  able  at 


THE   THEORIES  OF   A   NOVELIST  331 

Christmas-time  to  indulge  in  an  unquenchable  thirst  by 
accurately  computing  the  weight,  down  to  ounces,  of 
the  pig  or  turkey  raffled  for  at  their  favourite  public- 
house.  So  the  trained  student  of  his  fellows  can  also 
diagnose  his  subjects  and  anticipate  their  actions." 

The  Marquis  smiled. 

*'You  analytical  novelists  would  destroy  for  us  the 
whole  romance  of  life,"  he  declared.  "I  will  not  listen 
to  you  any  longer.  I  fear  ignorance  less  than  dis- 
illusion !" 

He  passed  on,  and  the  little  group  at  once  dispersed. 
The  novelist  was  left  alone.  He  went  off  in  a  huff. 
Lord  Chelsf  ord  plucked  me  by  the  arm. 

"Let  us  sit  down,  Ducalne,"  he  said.  "What  rubbish 
these  men  of  letters  talk !" 

I  glanced  towards  the  ballroom,  but  my  companion 
shook  his  head. 

"Angela  is  dancing  with  the  Portuguese  Ambassa- 
dor," he  said,  "and  he  will  never  give  up  his  ten  min- 
utes afterwards.  You  must  pay  the  penalty  of  having 
married  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  London,  Guy,  and 
sit  out  with  the  old  fogies.  What  rubbish  that  fellow 
did  talk !" 

"You  are  thinking "  I  murmured. 

"Of  the  Duke !  Yes !  There  was  a  man  who  to  all 
appearance  was  a  typical  English  gentleman,  proud, 
sensitive  of  his  honour,  in  every  action  which  came  be- 
fore the  world  a  right-dealing  and  a  right-doing  man. 
To  do  what  seemed  right  to  him  from  one  point  of  view 
he  stripped  himself  of  lands  and  fortune,  and  when  that 
was  not  enough  he  stooped  to  unutterable  baseness.    He 


332  THE    BETRAYAL 

was  willing  to  betray  his  country  to  justify  his  own 
sense  of  personal  honour." 

"In  justice  to  him,"  I  said,  "one  must  remember  that 
he  never  for  a  moment  believed  in  the  possibility  of  a 
French  invasion." 

Lord  Chelsf ord  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  too  nice  a  point,"  he  declared.  "We  may  not 
reckon  it  in  his  favour.  I  wonder  how  our  friends  on 
the  other  side  felt  when  they  knew  that  they  had  paid 
fifty  thousand  pounds  for  false  information?  We 
ought  to  make  you  a  peer,  Ducaine.  The  Trogoldy 
money  would  stand  it." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't!"  I  cried.  "What  have 
I  done  that  you  should  want  to  banish  me  into  the 
pastures  ?" 

"You  talk  too  much,"  my  companion  murmured. 
*'In  the  Lords  it  wouldn't  matter,  but  in  the  Commons 
you  are  a  nuisance.  I  suppose  you  want  to  be  taken 
into  the  Cabinet." 

"Quite  true!"  I  admitted.  "You  want  young  men 
there,  and  I  am  ready  any  time." 

"A  man  with  a  wife  like  yours,"  Lord  Chelsford  re- 
marked, thoughtfully,  "is  bound  to  go  anywhere  he 
wants.  Then  he  sits  down  and  takes  all  the  credit  to 
himself." 

Angela  passed  on  the  arm  of  the  Ambassador.  She 
waved  her  hand  gaily  to  us,  but  her  companion  drew 
her  firmly  away.    We  both  looked  after  her  admiringly. 

"Guy,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  "we  have  both  of  us 
done  some  good  work  in  our  time,  but  never  anything 
better  than  the  way  we  managed  to  hoodwink  everybody 


THE   THEORIES  OF  A   NOVELIST  333 

• — even  herself,  about  her  father.  Amongst  the  middle 
classes  he  remains  a  canonized  saint,  the  man  who  pau- 
perized himself  for  their  sakes.  Ray  was  too  full  of 
Blenavon's  little  aberrations  to  suspect  any  one  else,  and 
our  friends  from  across  the  water  who  might — I  mean 
the  woman — ^have  been  inclined  for  a  little  blackmail, 
were  obliging  enough  to  make  a  final  disappearance  in 
the  unlucky  Henriette.  The  woman  was  saved,  though, 
by-the-bye." 

"The  woman  is  still  alive,"  I  told  him,  "but  I  will 
answer  for  her  silence.  I  allow  her  a  small  pension — 
all  she  would  accept.  She  is  living  in  the  south  of 
France  somewhere." 

"And  Blenavon,"  Lord  Chelsford  said,  with  a  smile, 
"has  married  an  American  girl  who  has  made  a  different 
man  of  him.  What  character  those  women  have !  She 
hasn't  a  penny,  they  tell  me,  until  her  father  dies,  and 
they  work  on  their  ranch  from  sunrise.  She  will  be  an 
ornament  to  our  aristocracy  when  they  do  come  back." 
"They  are  coming  next  spring,"  I  remarked,  "if  they 
can  do  it  out  of  the  profits  of  the  ranch — not  unless. 
Blenavon  has  carried  out  his  father's  wishes  to  the 
letter,  and  cut  off  the  entail  of  everything  that  was 
necessary." 

"What  a  silly  ass  that  novelist  was!"  Lord  Chels- 
ford declared  vigorously. 


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Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    By  Alfred  Olivant. 
Box  With  Broken  Seals,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Boy  With  Wings,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Brandon  of  the  Engineers.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Bridge  of  Kisses,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Broad  Highway,  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 
Broadway  Bab.    By  Johnston  MeCulley. 
Brown  Study,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Bruce  of  the  Circle  A.    By  Harold  Titus. 
{Buccaneer  Farmer,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Buck  Peters,  Ranchman>.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Builders,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Business  of  Life,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Cab  of  tile  Sleeping  Horse,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Cabbage  and  Kings.    By  O.  Henry. 

Cabin  Fever.    By  B.  M.  Bower.  _ 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright* 

Cape  Cod  Stories.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Abe,  Storekeeper.    By  James  A'.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap*n  ErI.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Jonah's  Fortune.    By  James  A.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    By  Joseph  'C.  Lincoln. 

Chinese  Label,  The,    By  J.  Frank  Davis.  __^ 

Christine  of  the  Young  Heart.  By  Louise  Breintenbacfi  Gancy, 

Cinderella  Jane.    By  Marjorie  B.  Cooke. 

Cinema  Murder,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

City  of  Masks,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard.    By  T.  W.  Hanshew. 


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Cleek,  The  Man  of  Forty  Faces.    By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Cleek's  Govenunent  Cases.    By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Clipped  Wings.    By  Rupert  Hughes. 

Clutch  of  Circumstance,  The.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Coast  of  Adventure,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Come-Back,  The.    By  Carolyn  Wells. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  the  Law,  The.     By  Charles  A.  Seltzer. 

Comrades  of  Peril.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Conspirators,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Contraband.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Cottage  of  Delight,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Cricket,  The.     By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure. 

Rex  Beach. 
Crimson  Tide,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers, 
Cross  Currents.     By  Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
Cross  Pull,  The.     By  Hal.  G.  Evarts. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    By  Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cry  of  Youth,  A.    By  Cynthia  Lombardi. 
Cup  of  Fury,  The.    By  Rupeit  Hughes. 
Ctirious  Quest,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Danger  and  Other  Stories.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Dark  Hollow,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Dark  Star,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Daughter  Pays,  The.     By  Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Day  of  Days,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Depot  Master,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Destrojmig  Angel,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Devil's  Own,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Devil's  Paw,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Disturbing  Charm,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Door  of  Dread,  The.    By  Arthur  Stringer. 
Dope.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The,    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 
Duds.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 


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Empty  Pockets,    By  Rupert  Hughes. 
Erskine  Dale  Pioneer.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 
Everyman's  Land.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Extricating  Obadiah.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Eyes  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 
Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Fairfax  and  His  Pride.    By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Felix  O'Day.    By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

54-40  or  Fight     By  Emerson  Hough, 

Fighting  Chance,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Fighting  Fool,  The.    By  Dane  Coolidge. 

Fighting  Shepherdess,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 

Financier,  The.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Find  tile  Woman,    By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

First  Sir  Percy,  The.    By  The  Baroness  Orczy, 

Flame,  The.    By  Olive  Wadsley. 

For  Better,  for  Worse.    By  W.  B.  Maxwell. 

Forbidden  Trail,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Forfeit,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Fortieth  Door,  The.    By  Mary  Hastings  Bradley* 

Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 

From  Now  On,    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Fur  Bringers,  The.    By  Hulbert  Footner, 

Further  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale.    By  Frank  L.  Packard, 

Gei  Your  Man.    By  Ethel  and  James  Dorrance. 

Girl  in  the  Mirror,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Girl  of  O.  K.  Valley,  The.    By  Robert  Watson. 

Girl  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  A.  By  Payne  Erskine. 

Girl  from  Keller's,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Girl  Philippa,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Girls  at  His  Billet,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Glory  Rides  the  Range.    By  Ethel  and  James  Borrance. 

Gloved  Hand,  The.    By  Burton  E.  Stevenson. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood, 

God's  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Going  Some.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer, 


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Golden  Slipper,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Golden  Woman,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Good  References.    By  E.  J.  Rath. 

Gorgeous  Girl,  The.     By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Gray  Angels,  The.     By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Greyfriars  Bobby.     By  Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Hand  of  Fu-Manchti,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Happy  House.     By  Baroness  Von  Hutten. 

Harbor  Road,  The.     By  Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Havoc.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 

Heart  of  the  Sunset.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Heart  of  Thunder  Moimtain,  The.    By  Edfrid  A.  Bingham. 

Heart  of  Unaga,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Hidden  Children,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Hidden  Trails.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Highflyers,  The.    By  Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Hillman,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

Hills  of  Refuge,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

His  Last  Bow.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

His  Official  Fiancee.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Hopalong  Ccissidy.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Hound  from  the  North,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine 

Green. 
Hugh  Wynne,  Free  Quaker.    By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 
Humoresque.     By  Fannie  Hurst. 

I  Conquered.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Illustrious  Prince,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
In  Another  Girl's  Shoes,    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Inez.    (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 


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I  = 

Infelice.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 
Initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Innocent.     By  Marie  CorelH. 

In  Red  and  Gold.    By  Samuel  Merwin.  * 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmefg 
In  the  Brooding  Wild.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Intriguers,  The.     By  William  Le  Queux. 
Iron  Furrow,  The.    By  George  C.  Shedd. 
Iron  Trail,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Iron  Woman,  The.    By  Margaret  Doland. 
Ishmaet  (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 
Island  of  Surprise.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady, 
I  Spy.    By  Natalie  Sumner  Linclon. 
It  Pays  to  Smile.     By  Nina  Wilcox  Putnam. 
I've  Married  Marjorie.    By  Margaret  Widdemer. 

Jean  of  the  Lezy  A.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

Jennie  Gerhardt.    By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Johnny  Nelson.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Judgment  House,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

King  Spruce.    By  Holman  Day. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Li  Chance  Mine  Mystery,  The.    By  S.  Carleton. 
Lady  Doc,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 
.Land-Girl's  Love  Story,  A.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Land  of  Strong  Men,  The.    By  A.  M.  Chisholm. 
Last  Straw,  The.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Last  Trail,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 
Laughing  Bill  Hyde.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Laughing  Girl,  The.    By  R'obert  W.  Chamberf, 
Law  Breakers,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Law  of  the  Gtm,  The.    By  Ridgwell  'Cullum. 


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League  of  the  Scarlet  Pimpernel.    By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Lifted  Veil,  The.     By  Basil  King. 

Lighted  Way,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Moment  of  Happiness,  The.     By  Clarence  Budington 

Kelland. 
Lion's  Mouse,  The.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Lonesome  Land.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Lonely  Stronghold,  The.     By  iMrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Long  Live  tlie  King.     By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Lost  Ambassador.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 
Lydia  of  the  Pines.     By  Honore  Willsie. 
Lynch  Lawyers.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Macaria.     (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Maid  of  Mirabelle,  The.    By  Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.    By  Vingie  E.  Roe. 

Major,  The.    By  Ralph  Connor. 

Maker  of  History,  A.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Malefactor,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Man  from  Bar  20,  The.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Man  from  Bitter  Roots,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 

Man  from  Tall  Timber,  The.    By  Thomas  K.  Holmes. 

Man  in  the  Jury  Box,  The.    By  Robert  Orr  Chipperfield. 

Man-Killers,  The.     By  Dane  Coolidge. 

Man  Proposes.     By  Eliot  H.  Robinson,  author  of  "Smiles." 

Man  Trail,  The.     By  Henry  Oyen. 

Man  Who  Couldn't  Sleep,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Marqueray's  Duel.    By  Anthony  Pryde. 

Mary  'Gusta.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mary  Wollaston.    By  Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Mason  of  Bar  X  Ranch.    By  E.  Bennett. 

Master  Christian,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Men  Who  Wroue;ht,  The.     Bv  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Midnight  of  the  Ranges.    By  George  Gilbert. 


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Mischief  Maker,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Missioner,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Million's  Maid.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Money  Master,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon,  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Moonlit  Way,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

More  Tish.     By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.     By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Bingle.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr,  Wu.    By  Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  the  Hasty  Arrow,  The.    By  Anna  K.  Green. 

Mystery  of  the  Silver  Dagger,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  tiie  13th  Floor,  The.    By  Lee  Thayer. 

Nameless  Man,  The.    By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Net,  The.     By  Rex  Beach, 

New  Clarion.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Night  Horseman,  The.    By  Max  Brand. 

Night  Operator,  The.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Night  Riders,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

North  of  the  Law.    By  Samuel  Alexander  White. 

One  Way  Trail,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Outlaw,  The.     By  Jackson  Gregory. 

Owner  of  the  Lazy  D.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Painted  Meadows.    By  Sophie  Kerr. 

Palmetto.    By  Stella  G.  S.  Perry. 

Paradise  Bend.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Pardners.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Parrot  &  Co.     Bv  Harold  MacGrath. 

Partners  of  the  Night.    By  Leroy  Scott. 


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Partners  of  the  Tide.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln, 

Passionate  Pilgrim,  The.    By  Samuel  Merwin. 

Patricia  Brent,  Spinster.     Anonymous. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.    By  Ralph  Connor. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.     By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Pawns  Count,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Peaceniakers>  The.    By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Peddler,  The.     By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 

People's  Man,  A.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Peter  RuflF  and  the  Double  Four.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Poor  Man's  Rock.     By  Bertrand  Sinclair. 

Poor  Wise  Man,  A.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Portygee,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Possession.     By  Olive  Wadsley. 

Postmaster,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Prairie  Flowers.     By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Prairie  Mother,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Pretender,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Promise,  Thew    By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Quest  of  the  Sacred  Slipper,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Rainbow's  End,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Rainbow  Valley.    By  L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Ranching  for  Sylvia,    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Ransom.     By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

Real  Life.     By  Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Reclaimers,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Re-Creation  of  Brian  Kent,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Red  and  Black.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond, 

Red  Mist,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Red  Pepper  Bums.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Pepper's  Patients.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Seal,  The.     By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Restless  Sex,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


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Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 
Return  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame,  The.     By  M.   E.  and  T.  W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  Night,  The.    By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  the  Purple  Emperor,  The.    By  T.  W.  and  M.  E. 

Hanshew. 
Rider  of  the  King  Log,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 
Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 
Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Rising  Tide,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 
Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 
Room  Number  3.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Rose  in  the  Ring,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon, 
Roimd  the  Comer  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

St.  Elmo.     (III.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Second  Choice.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Second  Latchkey,  The.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Secret  of  Sarek,  The.     By  Maurice  Leblanc. 

See-Saw,  The.     By  Sophie  Kerr. 

Self-Raised.     (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Shavings.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Sheik,  The.   By  E.  M.  Hull. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sheriff  of  Silver  Bow,  The.    By  Berton  Braley. 

Sherry,     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Side  of  the  Angels,  The.     By  Basil  King. 

Sight  Unseen  and  The  Confession.    By  Mary  Robert  Rinehart. 

Silver  Horde,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Sixty-first  Second,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 

Slayer  of  Souls,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Son  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    (New  Edition.)     By  Zane  Grey. 


Rob 

CCTJU 


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